Cloak and Dagger
by Liave Ekeli
Summary: A man is found dead with a playing card in his pocket, and the fear of a new time of terror spreads through Gotham. And as the ghost of the Joker haunts the city, ghosts from Bruce Wayne's past come back to haunt him. A sequel to 'Smoke and Mirrors'.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Batman and all other recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics, with the movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. The original characters are of my creation and thus, they belong to me.  
**Author's Notes:** So, here it is - this is the sequel to my other Batman story, Smoke and Mirrors. This will be a story in its own right, but if you haven't read Smoke you might want to check it out, because it will bring some of the events in this story into context. The first couple of chapters are a little bit different from Smoke, somewhat lighter in tone, but I can assure you that Gotham hasn't become a much better place to live in the time that has passed between the two stories, so things will quickly get more complicated. For all those who read Smoke, I hope you also enjoy this story, and for everyone reading this - please review. I desperately want to know what you think about my story, both the good and the bad, and I'm not scared of constructive critisism. Finally, I'd just like to say; I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The first rays of the spring sun were just then coming through the sheer curtains as he opened his eyes. His mind had been awake for a while already, but for the first moments of awareness it had chosen to just listen to the comfortable, lazy silence surrounding him. The only sound audible except for that of a city slowly waking far below was that of a soft but steady breathing that was not his own.

She lay curled up beside him, her face half obscured by the sheets and her dark hair spread out in a tousled halo around her, and she looked about as relaxed and peaceful as he felt. The past couple of months had been surprisingly good to him, and for a large part he attributed that to her presence. He hadn't really planned to let her interfere with his life to the extent she had done, but after their first couple of casual dates he discovered that he really didn't mind having her around the penthouse at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. It gave him a brief taste of peace and normality, as he had never experienced it before. And after the business with the Riddler, Batman was wise to keep his head down. He knew of at least two police officers who would love to get a chance to take aim at him again, and he'd rather not give them that opportunity.

Luckily for him, Gotham had been rather quiet since Edward Nashton was caught, and although all his sense told him that it would not last, he was grateful for the pause.

The woman beside him stirred, and his attention turned back to her. She probably had no idea what effect she had on him. He certainly hadn't told her…he didn't see the point in mentioning that ever since he had gotten involved with her his nightmares had all but vanished. That would mean having to explain what caused them in the first place, and he wasn't quite ready to do that yet. He didn't know if he would ever be, but as long as their relationship could remain casual, he wouldn't have to worry. A part of him wished that he could have been honest with her, but the other, prevailing part knew that his secret would have to remain, despite the feelings he harbored for this extraordinary woman.

"What time is it?"

The sound of her sleepy voice murmuring the question halfway into her pillow brought his thoughts back to the present, and he turned towards her to kiss the part of her cheek that wasn't obscured by her pillow or her hair.

"It's early…"

He paused, and almost absentmindedly lifted his hand to brush a lock of hair away from her face, before he continued softly;

"Go back to sleep."

She didn't argue, probably because she hadn't been entirely awake to begin with, and when he pulled the covers around her she gave a content little sigh and curled up closer to him. He kissed her forehead, and paused for a moment to watch her face as she drifted off into peaceful sleep before closing his eyes to join her.

Hours later, when the sun was high in the sky, he woke again, this time to a slender fingers pulling softly through his hair, and a pair of deep brown eyes looking at him. When she saw him open his eyes, she smiled.

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Fair enough," he replied with a half shrug, before returning the question.

"You?"

"Just fine," she said happily while she sat up and brushed her hair away from her face with one hand.

"You sound happy." He remarked, letting his voice turn it into a question. Truth to be told, Connie Tate usually managed to sound happy whenever she was, which was often, the same way she managed to sound angry when she was, which was much less common.

"I am happy." She replied, managing to make it sound as if being happy was the most natural thing in the world.

"Why?"

"Well, let's see…" She began, slumping back onto the bed in an exaggerated fashion, making the pillows bounce around the mattress.

"It's Sunday. There is an extremely good-looking guy in bed with me. I'm in a freaking penthouse, and not any penthouse at that, but the most freakishly huge penthouse known to mankind. Not to mention I had a very good time last night…"

A wide grin spread across her face at the memory, and he couldn't resist leaning in to kiss her. He wished the hours they had together could last forever, but he knew that they wouldn't. It was Sunday morning, which meant that breakfast would last long and he would savor every minute of her company, but after that the magic of their meeting would slowly fade as she hesitantly, but determined as always, would prepare to leave and go back to her normal life. And he, with equal hesitation and determination, would go back to his…

Half an hour later they were having breakfast in one of the smaller living areas adjacent to the master bedroom, and Bruce watched Connie, wearing one of his shirts, as she put generous amounts of butter and marmalade on a piece of toast. He also watched as she, in a moment of distraction, dropped the knife she was holding and let out a squeal of surprise but quickly caught it in mid-air and put it carefully down on her plate. As she licked marmalade from her fingers the squeal turned into a charming little laugh, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Connie could be quite clumsy, but she could also be just as quick to react to rectify her own mishaps, as evident by the quick catch of the knife he had just witnessed. It was another thing he liked about her, in a strange way it gave her a sort of casual elegance. Her reactions, like her demeanor in most situations, were seemingly effortless, as if her body was in tune with her general state of mind. He wondered if he was the only one who saw the beauty in that.

They were both silent for a while, and she had almost finished her piece of toast when he asked;

"Connie…?"

"Yes?"

Bruce hesitated for a moment before continuing. He already had a pretty good idea about how she would react to what he was about to say.

"The completion party for the Manor is next weekend…"

Their eyes met, and he already saw the resistance building up in her gaze. She shook her head gently, and turned her face away from him for a moment, seemingly looking out over the city, before turning her attention back to him again.

"No, Bruce. We've talked about this… I don't want to be one of your women."

"You don't want to be seen with me." Since it was only supposed to sound like a confirmation of something he already knew, he was slightly surprised at the bitterness that hid just below the surface in those words. He hadn't meant for it to sound that way, he knew why Connie was reluctant, and to a certain extent he understood her. The press would see her as just another piece of arm-candy to notorious playboy Bruce Wayne, and for a woman like Connie, who wasn't thrilled with the press to begin with, a label such as that would be a clear insult.

He wanted her to attend the party at the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor, just as he wanted to be able to take her out to dinner on occasion, but so far she had denied all that kind of invitations flat out. And if her reluctance had been the only obstacle he probably could have persuaded her otherwise, but there was another thing also standing in the way, beside the secret he kept from her; his image. An image he had created to keep all the curious eyes in the world firmly away from discovering the true nature of Bruce Wayne, now caused him trouble with one woman who had come to mean something to him, and even now when he sort of wanted to, he could not let that image go. He had to keep one mask firmly in place to cover another, and there was only so much room for maneuvering in between the two.

He sighed

"You would rather sneak around in secrecy?" He asked her, incredulously.

Connie simply shrugged and replied;

"At least then it's my secret, and no one else's."

It made sense when she said it like that, but he still couldn't resist one last attempt at getting her to change her mind.

"Think about it." He urged her, and when he saw that the look in her eyes was still skeptical, he added with a smiled that seemed to almost effortlessly creep into the corners of his mouth and spread wide across his lips;

"Please?"

The effect was almost instantaneous, and she bit her lip in a vain effort not to give away the fact that his persuasion was dangerously close to working on her.

"Okay," she said silently, all the while not quite daring to look back at him, appearing suddenly shy. But then she seemed to shrug it off, and their eyes met again. The look in her eyes now was mild, almost submissive, but her voice carried a bit more volume when she said;

"Okay…I'll think about it."

Some hours later he watched her as she stepped into the elevator, and only the quick glance she threw him over her shoulder gave away anything about what the two of them had shared the night before and earlier that morning. Apart from that one, brief glance, all the magic was gone.


	2. Ten Seconds To Eternity

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I don't own Batman. All recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. The original characters and the plot, however, are my creation.  
**Author's Note:** So, I couldn't resist posting the first chapter any longer. It was in a folder on my computer practically screaming to be posted, so here goes... It's not as long as most of the chapters in Smoke, but then again some of those were virtual marathon-chapters, so maybe that's a good thing. Oh, and I wouldn't expect two updates per week if I were you, most likely it's a one time thing on my part. Chapter 2, for one, is not finished yet. As always, please leave a review, they are a great motivation for me to keep writing, and I love to hear your thoughts and opinions, good and bad. I hope you enjoy, and that everyone is having a good weekend!

* * *

The butt of the rifle rested comfortably against his shoulder, and through the scope he could clearly see the man whose life he would be ending that night. It was nothing personal…it never was, at least not for him. His clients undoubtedly had their reasons, but they were reasons he did not, and had never cared to know. Reasons only complicated matters further, and he saw no cause to object himself to that. If the money was good, and the arrangements could be made without too much trouble, he would put his services to the disposal of whomever it was that wished to hire him. But as he sat crouched on that rooftop, waiting for the moment when the shot would be perfect, he did wonder, because the man who now unknowingly were in the crosshairs of his scope was homeless, and, judging by his clothes and overall demeanor, had been so for a long time. His hair and beard was tangled and flecked with grey in several places, and his face had aged roughly, but despite that his features told of a man who had once been quite handsome to look at. Who on earth could have reasons to want this man dead? He had nothing, no earthly possessions of note, and judging by his behavior he might be in the process of losing his mind, and not just his material possessions. Not that any of it would matter in a minute from now.

Oh well. Time to get the job done. His finger, which up until that moment had rested on the trigger guard, now moved to gently touch the trigger itself. He blinked once to readjust his focus, something that hadn't really been necessary, but he did it anyway. No point in getting sloppy just because the kill would be an easy one. Then, after a single intake of breath, he squeezed the trigger and watched through the scope as the bullet hit its target. He exhaled. The job was done. No one had reacted, and the only sign that a life had ended on the street below was a small trace of blood now trickling from a single, small hole in the man's temple.

The whole fluid motion, from the moment his finger had touched the trigger to the moment when the homeless man stopped breathing, had not taken more than ten seconds maximum. Ten short seconds to end a life…it was almost too easy. As he carefully disassembled the rifle and packed the components into a relatively inconspicuous black backpack, he couldn't help but smile a little to himself. It was the adrenaline, the rush and the thrill of a job well done.

A couple of minutes later he made his way down from the roof, and walked casually over to where the dead man sat half leaning against a fire escape, appearing to have merely fallen asleep against the rusty steps. He had one more thing to do before he could call it a night, and he carefully removed two items from his pocket. One, he put in the dead man's front pocket, and the other he placed in one of his hands.

Now his work was over for the night, but he knew he couldn't rest yet. His work in the city was just beginning, and he was looking forward to it. It could prove to be a challenging assignment, even for him…especially if he succeeded in luring Gotham's self-appointed protector out of hiding. That would undoubtedly please them… and he made his living off of satisfied clients.

* * *

The Gotham Palisades were practically swarming with people, and thus thoroughly defying its reputation as one of Gotham's more quiet neighborhoods. That reputation had largely been given because the Palisades technically wasn't a part of Gotham City, but a suburban neighborhood created to offer safety to well-off families who could afford to escape Gotham's clutches.

Most of the Palisades had been constructed in recent years, after Gotham had started to recover from the economic depression which had plagued the city for a long time, but one building had stood there for centuries, and tonight it was once again the centre of attention; Wayne Manor…Or rather the _new_ Wayne Manor, now rebuilt after its predecessor burned to the ground after Bruce Wayne's now infamous thirtieth birthday party.

Tonight Bruce Wayne was hosting an extravagant party to celebrate the completion of the new Wayne Manor, where all of Gotham's elite, and quite a few others, were present. The assembled press representatives were as diverse as those invited, but the majority came from Gotham's countless gossip columns and magazines.

Amidst the glitter and glamour of Gotham's high society, Connie Tate felt uncomfortable in every way. She was attending a party among people she didn't know, who would probably shun her if they had known her background, and with every step she took she was scared that she would trip over her own feet, or the skirt of her dress. The necklace she wore was heavy, and felt like it was about to choke her…

She stopped, fighting the panic that had been building up in her chest since that morning. Suddenly frightened, she looked back towards the gate she had entered through, and for a moment she really wanted to either scream or run, but couldn't decide which. But when she saw the white lights of countless cameras flashing she knew going back wasn't an option, and screaming would just draw attention, something she definitely didn't want. So, in the end she just kept going.

Slowly she walked up the carpeted pathway that had been laid out through the large front garden. It was dusk, and compared to the commotion outside the gates the garden was relatively quiet. The air smelled sweet, there were beautiful, ornate lanterns hanging from the trees, and almost despite herself she felt her anxiety begin to disappear. She straightened, and tried to ignore the choking sensation her necklace gave her, and the fear of tripping or getting the train of her dress caught on something.

She reached the broad marble staircase that led to the main garden entrance, and carefully began climbing the steps, lifting her skirt to avoid tripping over it as she went. The sound of her heels against the marble made a distinct clicking sound that she wasn't used to hearing. She didn't normally wear heels like this, if she did she usually wore them on hardwood floors, not marble, and it made her realize just how surreal this situation was to her.

She reached the top of the staircase and discovered that she could look directly into the entrance hall, because the double doors had been opened wide to the spring dusk outside. Inside, standing in the middle of the room welcoming some of the other early arrivals, she spotted him…the reason she was there to begin with.

He had noticed her the moment she reached the top of the staircase. It was practically impossible not to, the way she was dressed. The first thing he noticed was the black, floor-length coat, which was held together with a single crystal button in front and fell into a train at the back. It gave her a sort of old fashioned elegance, something she carried very well, even if she didn't see it herself. When she entered the coat came off to reveal a deep red satin dress, sleeveless but perfectly fitted and decorated with crystal buttons all the way down the back. It flared out from her hips into a wide skirt, that too trained like the coat she had worn over it. It really seemed like she had just stepped into the dress, with little or no effort, even if he knew that that was rarely the case. Some of the people around him seemed to share his opinion, because he could hear faint whispers about 'the woman in the red dress'. He smiled, mostly to himself, and stepped forwards to welcome her.

It had taken quite a bit of persuasion from him to get her to show up at all. He knew why, he knew she felt out of her depth amongst his peers, as if she didn't fit in or didn't belong, but he wanted to make her see that it was mostly in her head. Some might send a nasty look in her direction, but for the most part he was sure that those he socialized with would be just as intrigued by Connie Tate as he was.

He reached her, and without hesitation he pulled her into a kiss. He knew that his action would be observed and commented throughout the evening, and that he risked getting a slap in the face from Connie for being so bold, but for once he did not care.

For the briefest of seconds she resisted, but it did not take her long to give in and return the kiss, and although both of them knew that they were being watched the kiss still lingered between them for several seconds before they broke apart. When they did, he said softly;

"Hi. I'm glad you came."

Behind him the whispers had increased in strength, and Connie stared at him, for a moment furious, before half-whispering;

"I can't believe you talked me into this!"

The tone of her voice gave away that her anger was mostly directed at herself, and it sounded like she was berating herself for being persuaded into attending.

"I can't believe you actually think I can fit in with these people…"

He gave her a calm smile, and gently put a finger across her lips to silence her. Then he stroked a hand across her cheek, before cupping her chin with the same hand, forcing her to look at him.

"Look at me. You don't have to fit in with them…you can make them fit you."

He paused and smiled down at her for a moment before saying;

"Now come on, I'll introduce you around to some people I think you'll get along with. We'll just stay clear of the idiots…"

She smiled at his last words, and replied;

"So, you're not denying that they're here?"

"Oh no, they're here alright…but they're no concern of ours, are they?"

As if to underline his words he let his hands gently caress her neck before they rested on her shoulders, and he kissed her briefly on the lips, whispering;

"You look absolutely stunning."

"You should know," she replied teasingly and soon continued;

"You paid for it."

She leant her head back slightly, and when their eyes met he noticed that a little mischievous spark was lurking in her glance. He smiled, and his fingers played with the broad diamond and ruby necklace that rested just on her clavicle. He had never thought she would consent to wearing it. It was probably worth more than she made in a year, which he obviously hadn't told her, but never the less he thought she suspected it. In the months they had been on more personal terms she had scarcely accepted gifts from him, except the necklace he had given her just before last Christmas, and now this ensemble. The way she looked now, he wished he could get her to accept more. He leant closer and whispered in her ear;

"It was worth every penny."

He paused and looked at her again, and this time her face was only inches from his own. The smile that was on his face turned into a grin and he hesitated, wanting to kiss her again but at the same time knowing that people were watching them now, and that too much of a public display of affection could upset Connie again just when he was about to get her comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings.

He was about to step behind her to lead her further into the room when she grabbed his arm and said jokingly;

"If you step on my dress I will hit you, and I will hit you hard. I'm struggling enough not to trip over my own feet without your help…"

He just smiled at her and offered her his arm. She took it, shaking her head and smiling slightly at the stupid grin on his face. But at least he was acting like the gentleman she now knew hid behind the playboy façade, and not like how the press seemed to prefer him to act. She didn't want to fully admit it to herself, but his presence alone had made her feel a little more comfortable, and her shoulders relaxed a little as he walked with her through the crowd.

The walk was slow, because it seemed Bruce was stopped every couple of steps by someone he knew and had to exchange a few phrases with. Some of them seemed to take a great deal of interest in what they assumed to be his newest arm-candy, she was undoubtedly different from her predecessors, lacking the striking beauty that so many of them possessed, but captivating none the less. Her eyes were never distant, and she seemed to greet all those she was briefly introduced to with the same kindness and polite interest.

A few took an instant dislike to this new woman, but most others smiled and watched Bruce with renewed interest. Was he finally coming around, ready to give up those ridiculous playboy mannerisms? Some of the older party-goers, who remembered Thomas and Martha Wayne watched the new arrival intently, and saw certain parallels between the two women. Telling glances were exchanged, and there seemed to be formed a silent, general consensus that most of them would not mind if this woman was invited to more than one of Bruce Wayne's parties. Bruce had noticed these whispers the moment Connie entered the Manor, and for a brief moment, before the demands of reality could catch up to his imagination, he thought that he would have enjoyed that - having Connie at his side on more such occasions. As they walked slowly through the crowd he sent her a sideways glance, and a smile crossed his lips that seemed to be reserved for when his eyes found her. Connie herself didn't notice anything of what people whispered about her, or the look Bruce sent her just then, she was still far too nervous.

Bruce had kept the introductions short on purpose up to this point, because he wanted Connie's first proper introduction to be to someone she would like and have something in common with. To accommodate that he had thought to introduce her to Keith Morgan, a friend from a short stint at Harvard several years previous, and his girlfriend Andrea.

The two of them were sitting in one of the sofas in the large area outside one of the grand ballrooms, and when they saw Bruce and Connie approach both of them waved. Keith Morgan turned out to be a good looking, square-jawed man in his early forties, with straw blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends. Andrea Walker was a beautiful woman, about the same age as her companion, perhaps a little younger, and her dark blonde hair was brushed away from her face, which revealed a set of high cheekbones and a wide smile, along with a pair of sparkling blue eyes. The two men greeted each other with a move that was a cross between a handshake and a hug, and Andrea greeted Bruce with a quick kiss on the cheek. Without waiting for Bruce to introduce her, Keith turned to Connie;

"Hi, I'm Keith…Keith Morgan."

They shook hands, while Connie replied;

"Connie Tate."

"Model or actress?" Keith continued, smiling.

"Engineer." Connie replied, not without a certain satisfaction that she apparently had claim to another job title than the women Bruce were most often seen with.

For a moment, Keith Morgan seemed genuinely surprised, but then his smile turned into a wide grin, and his eyes travelled from Connie to Bruce.

"Ouch…sorry," he replied sheepishly, and his eyes briefly travelled to Connie before they fixed on Bruce, adding;

"So, you've finally managed to find one with both beauty and brains, huh? Where'd you find her?"

Bruce shot Connie a sideways glance and smiled secretively. He could tell from her facial expression that she didn't like the question. He knew why; it was because she was afraid of being thought of as a gold digger, if anyone found out that she was working for Wayne Enterprises. He had tried, on occasion, to explain to her that technically he wasn't her boss…Lucius Fox was, and he was also the one responsible for hiring her in the first place. But his argument had so far fallen on deaf ears, so he thought it best to tread carefully and was deliberately sketchy on the details when he answered;

"It's a long story."

He looked sideways again, briefly, just to gauge her reaction, and was pleased to see just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, that too secretive, like she was pleased to know something that the others didn't.

Keith followed up with a question directed only at Bruce, and as he turned his attention away from her for a moment Andrea stepped forwards and extended a hand.

"Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Andrea."

Connie extended her own right hand and completed the gesture, speaking her own name in response. For a brief moment the two women stood silent, listening in on the conversation taking place between the two men. It seemed to concern someone they had both gone to school with, and Connie was none the wiser. She exchanged looks with Andrea, and from the glance she received in return it was apparent that the other woman knew little more than herself.

They listened for a few more seconds before Andrea shrugged and leaned towards Connie, whispering conspiratorially

"I don't think we're going to get in on this conversation… Do you want to go get a drink instead?"

Connie shot one final glance at Bruce, who had half turned away from her and wasn't looking in her direction at all, before nodding and mouthing a near silent 'yeah', before realizing that she didn't need to whisper.

They walked in silence for a while, before Andrea turned towards Connie and asked gently;

"So, how are you holding up?"

"What?"

Andrea shrugged and continued;

"Everyone is a wreck their first time with the trust fund crowd… everyone that hasn't been groomed for it, that is."

Connie looked over at her and smiled, surprised.

"Really? I thought it was just me… Am I that transparent?"

Andrea shook her head and chuckled.

"Of course not! You look like you're in control…it's just that I know what it's like. I was fifteen the first time I was thrown into this mix…"

Andrea gestured towards the some of the people passing them on their way to or from the bar and dance floor.

"So what brought you into the fold?" Connie asked, turning her head to briefly meet Andrea's gaze before they kept walking.

"Modeling." She spoke the word with some distaste, making it sound more like it was a mistake she had made in her youth than the glamorous pastime of her glory days. Pausing for a moment to look over at Connie, and seeing the curious look in the other woman's eyes, she shrugged, before saying;

"It wasn't for me, and I knew it…but when dozens of people tell you that you're made for something you have a tendency to believe them."

She smiled apologetically, but the look in her eyes quickly turned as curious with Connie as Connie seemed to be with her.

"So, you're really an engineer?"

Connie nodded and smiled, suddenly somewhat embarrassed. Being an engineer didn't sound anywhere near as glamorous as being an ex-model.

"Yeah…"

"That's so cool!" Andrea exclaimed, managing to sound almost childish in her excitement.

Connie turned her head sharply to face the other woman, and saw an interest she hadn't expected apparent on her face.

"Really?" She wanted to sound happy, but couldn't help but sound a little bit disbelieving as well.

"Yeah, definitely!" Andrea nodded enthusiastically before continuing;

"Look, you have no idea how many models and actresses and singers you come across when you move in these circles for any length of time…" Again she gestured around her to illustrate the people they were surrounded by.

"It's absurd! I've met so many people who've looked at me like I was crazy because I gave it up… And then I meet you, and it's so refreshing because you come in here and you're something completely different."

Connie had to laugh at Andrea's enthusiasm, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Andrea turned serious again, and said;

"Seriously though, I'd love to see you around at more of these events, and I fully intend on telling Bruce that, no matter what you say." She grinned when she saw Connie blush slightly, and continued;

"I also plan on telling him he'd be well off to hang on to you."

Andrea winked, and they continued to make their way towards the crowded bar area. From then on their conversation turned to several different subjects, including Connie's education and Andrea's path from model to a rather successful author. It was just as well that the conversation flowed easy, because it took a long while for them to get their drinks, and when they were walking back to where they had last seen Bruce and Keith, each with a glass of champagne in their hand, Connie started to feel like Andrea was someone she could come to be friends with after a while.

Her night had so far had gone a lot better than she could ever have expected, and she started to feel a little more at ease. She was sipping her champagne, and, although she knew it was a bit childish, she was thinking of Bruce, trying to imagine the expression on his face when he saw her again, and the genuinely pleased smile she was almost sure that he'd give her. The thought made her smile, almost despite herself. Even if she knew that what was between them could hardly qualify as a relationship, she was rather enjoying it, whatever it was. Bruce had so far shown himself to be a complete gentleman, and after the bad hand she had gotten dealt by love before, that was a refreshing change.

Then it was as if all of the happy, playful thoughts in her head had suddenly disappeared and been replaced with the thought that 'this is all too good to be true', because a sudden, ominous feeling crept up on her without her knowing why. She had never been one to believe in any kind of supernatural forces, but at that moment, when she approached the sofa where Keith and Bruce were now sitting, she got the feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change everything.

What was even worse was that the feeling proved to be accurate. She watched Bruce, looking for the welcoming smile, only to discover that he wasn't looking in her direction at all. His eyes, along with every other pair of eyes in the room, were on a stunningly beautiful woman that had just entered.

The moment she laid eyes on her, Connie could understand why everyone was staring. This woman was absolutely gorgeous to look at, and her appearance was unlike anything Connie had ever seen. It wasn't the looks of a model, or a singer or an actress, but looks that could make men fling themselves at her feet in a split second. Waves of thick hair fell down over her shoulders, and the color was such a deep shade of black that it appeared to have a bluish tint to it when it reflected the light. Her body was curvy in all the right places, and she was wearing a dress that seemed to be more like a second skin to her than a garment. From where she was standing Connie couldn't make out what color her eyes were, but to her they appeared either blue or grey, and the look in them was dangerous, as if she wanted to eat them all alive, while managing to be oddly alluring, all at the same time.

The woman was fully aware that the attention of everyone in the room was on her, and she seemed to be enjoying it immensely. She began to walk, slowly, but with determination, towards Bruce.

From then on, everything seemed to be going in slow motion. Connie watched as the woman stopped in front of the sofa where Bruce was sitting, and leaned over him, kissing him deeply on the lips. In Connie's mind the kiss seemed to go on forever, and seeing it felt like getting stabbed in the back with a knife. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and when the woman finally broke away, but remained leaning over him to seemingly whisper something in his ear, all Connie really wanted to do was scream – but she couldn't. Not a sound came over her lips, but the champagne glass she had been holding slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, breaking.

The woman looked in her direction at the sound, and Connie saw a self-satisfied smile come across her lips. With a nonchalant gesture the woman turned around and began walking out the way she came, gently swaying her hips for all those eyes that were still locked on her.

Connie stood frozen, watching with all the others until the mystery woman had disappeared. Only then did she manage to turn on her heel and begin to walk away. Her heart was beating violently in her chest, and she had to fight the impulse to break into a run. She didn't look back, not at Andrea, not at him…not at anyone. All she knew was that she had to get as far away from all the people as she possibly could, and that if she never saw Bruce Wayne again she would be glad of it. She had been a complete fool to fall into his honey trap in the first place, that much was clear to her now.

When she finally got home her emotions were in complete turmoil, and she barely managed to shut the door behind her before she could no longer hold back the tears. She felt betrayed, stupid, angry, and completely lost. How could she have been so stupid? Her sense had told her time and time again that it was a bad idea…when on earth was she going to learn to _listen_?!? In a flash of sudden rage she ripped off the necklace he had given her and threw it more than halfway across the room, before her legs seemed to give way under her and she slid slowly down on the floor, sobbing bitterly.


	3. The Shadow of a Doubt

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable Batman characters are the property of DC Comics with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. Only the original characters belong to me, as they are of my creation.  
**Author's Notes:** I can't remember ever having updated a story this regularly before. Must be the combination of holiday and shorter chapters. Still not promising I'll keep it up though (because the moment I do, inspiration will undoubtedly fail me and I'll end up in writer's block hell...that's just the way it is). Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to two of my best friends, Mia and Elisabeth. I hope none of you mind being the inspiration for Connie's friends (I know you don't Mia, and I'm hoping that you won't mind either, Elisabeth). You're both truly awesome, and I'm lucky to know you.  
Also, huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed/ added this story to favourites/alerts. I really appreciate it, you contribute so much to making this story fun to write. Keep up the good work. And to anyone new, if you have the time please leave a review. It doesn't have to be long, I appreciate all the reviews I get. Any questions or comments, feel free to send me a message/e-mail. Enjoy!

* * *

"_We meet again, my love…"_

The whispered words echoed in his mind. It was hours since the party ended and the last lingering guests had stumbled into their limousines or whatever other vehicles they had waiting for them and disappeared.

He welcomed the silence; it gave him room to finally play out all the thoughts that had been gathering in his mind ever since the mystery woman had walked into his line of sight. The thought that plagued him the most was that she wasn't really a mystery woman, he had seen her before some place, and he knew it. He just couldn't remember where, and the frustration grew more intense the more he thought about it. This wasn't just a case of him forgetting a name or a face – he never did, only pretended to so no one would remark what an extraordinary memory playboy Bruce Wayne seemed to have. In reality he remembered them all…except this woman.

He didn't know quite what to make of it, but could think of a couple of options. Either his gift of memory was slipping, or this woman was just as gifted, if not more, at concealing her true identity as he was. The latter seemed to him the most likely option, and he didn't like to consider what that could mean. He needed to know who this woman was, and how she was connected to him, and with that it seemed the relative peace he had enjoyed in the past couple of months could well be over. Not only because of this mystery woman, but also because he had now screwed up the somewhat volatile relationship he had managed to build with Connie. He had tried calling her…not that he had any concept of what he was going to say to her, but so far that hadn't been a problem, because she hadn't picked up the phone. He couldn't blame her. Frankly he had thought she would slap him or scream or call him something obscene, but now he thought she would probably be saving that for the occasion that she might see him again.

He could still see her face clearly, how the soft flush in her cheeks had disappeared in a split second and been replaced with a countenance as white as marble. The smile had also disappeared, and the spark in her eyes that he found so incredibly alluring had gone out, all in a flash. He sighed. This was one problem he did not know how to fix.

From behind him he heard the door open, and then the sound of sharp, quick footsteps on the hardwood floor, combined with the clear jingling of ice cubes in a tall glass. A moment or so after, he could see the shadowy form of Alfred Pennyworth out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up just as two glasses, one filled with ice water, and the other with a mixture of herbs and spices to counter the effect of what little alcohol he had consumed during the evening, were put down in front of him.

"Thank you, Alfred." He said solemnly, taking the glass filled with herbal mixture and draining it in one.

Alfred moved to walk back from whence he came, but then he hesitated and it seemed he could no longer contain his dissatisfaction with his master's actions.

"I mean no disrespect, Master Wayne…" He began carefully, but when he continued his voice was a little stronger, and the words were laced with something that could only be described as accusation.

"But what in God's name were you thinking?!"

Bruce leant back and surveyed Alfred, a smile without humor or joy coming across his lips.

"I didn't know what that woman had in mind, Alfred! If I did I wouldn't have taken part in it… You don't think I would do something like that to Connie, do you?!? After all the coaxing and persuasion I put in to get her to come with me?"

Their eyes met in semi-darkness, and both men had such a force in their eyes that for a moment it seemed as if they were going to engage in a silent battle of wills, but Alfred, always aware, lowered his eyes first, and said silently;

"I've known you to be many things, Master Wayne, but never cruel…"

After a brief pause he continued, just as softly;

"You could have gone after her…"

Bruce sighed, and when their eyes met again all trace of the will to fight was gone.

"And told her what, Alfred? That I was sorry? That I had no idea who that woman was? She would have punched me in the face and would have been right to do it…"

He shook his head slightly, and frustration etched his words when he concluded;

"It's not good enough. I have to give her more than that…but I don't know if I can. I need to know who that woman is. I need to know how she's connected to me. I think she could be dangerous, Alfred…and if I turn out to be right in that assumption…it might be just as well that Connie won't speak to me again. Because then that danger we talked about…the danger of being with me…it might be real again."

The last words were spoken with a bitterness that Alfred recognized as the first sign of defeat, and a part of him truly wanted to convince his master that if he wanted to, he could still make things right with Connie Tate. But he knew that if his master chose to do nothing he would certainly lose all contact with one woman who had given him some much needed peace. What kept Alfred from arguing this to his master was the knowledge that Bruce's priority would forever be to fight the evil that continuously threatened to take over Gotham City. So, in the end, all he said was;

"Do as you see fit, Master Wayne."

Bruce didn't reply. His attention was already turned back to the black and white drawing he had in front of him, which resembled the face of the mysterious woman, and he seemed to be thoroughly absorbed in memorizing every detail. Not that didn't have a vivid picture in his mind already…He remembered the way she had walked up to him as if she was in total control of her surroundings, how she had leant over him and how he had first caught the alluring scent that seemed to accompany her. From somewhere he had registered the faint sound of glass breaking, and a part of him had realized what was happening around him, but for the most part his mind had felt dull, oblivious to the consequences, and then, for a brief moment, he had been entirely under her control.

He looked down on the drawing he had composed, and he could formerly see the face come alive on the page. But still there was nothing that triggered his memory.

* * *

Connie Tate was in a miserable mood and was having the worst Sunday she could remember in quite a while. Her mood was largely a side effect of what had happened the night before and she was now alternating between the same bitter mixture of feelings she had felt then and a sudden urge to track down Bruce Wayne and give him a well-deserved kick in the nuts. But, as satisfying as the latter would undoubtedly have been, she knew she had to try to be sensible and just ignore him from now on. But it wasn't easy… She was about to see if there was anything she could do to distract herself from the urge to hit something when she heard someone knock violently on her front door. When she didn't answer right away, the knocking was repeated, and combined with two voices shouting her name. She recognized them almost immediately as the voices of two of her best friends – Elizabeth Ripley and Maria Murdoch, almost exclusively known as Mia.

"Come on, love. We know you're in there… We've put our heads together and come to the conclusion that you can't be anywhere else."

The sound of Mia's voice echoed in the hallway outside. Mia had a somewhat special way of speaking, she pronounced her 'a's and 'r's in a way that was very distinctive, and it made a lot of people wonder. Connie knew that it stemmed from the fact that Mia's father hailed from a family of Scots, and even though they had lived in the U.S for at least three generations, the dialect still lingered.

"Connie! Come on, open the door!" Elizabeth chimed in, quickly continuing;

"We just need to know that something bad hasn't happened to you. We've left about a thousand messages, you don't answer you phone, and Angie called me last night and said she'd seen you on your way home, and that you looked like you'd been to a party but that you looked really freaked out about something… We need to know what the hell is going on, Connie, because we're not letting you get mixed up in something bad again…"

Connie sighed. She really wasn't in the mood for visitors, but if she ignored the two of them they would probably find a way to force their way into her apartment anyway, so she decided it was best to let them in. She walked to the door, unlocked it, took off the security chain and opened it to see her two friends.

Elizabeth was a pretty woman in her early thirties; she had large, almond shaped, blue eyes, somewhat narrow lips and a slightly pointed chin. Her hair was currently streaked with several soft shades of blonde, probably to celebrate the coming summer, and there was a careful smile on her lips.

Mia was Elizabeth's complete opposite when it came to looks, shorter in stature, curvier in build and generally darker in appearance. Although her skin was rather pale, her hair was colored black and cut in a way that gave it a sort of angular look, and her eyes were dark and currently scanning Connie, before concluding with finality;

"You look like hell."

This utterance caused Elizabeth to quickly place an elbow in her ribs, before saying with feeling;

"What's going on, Connie?"

Connie merely shrugged and gave both of them a brief, not entirely heartfelt smile before stepping back to allow them entrance into her apartment.

"Long story…come on in."

Without needing further encouragement Elizabeth and Mia made their way into the apartment, both looking around curiously, as if they were trying to find some visible reason why Connie seemed so sad, all of a sudden. When they were all sitting comfortably curled up on couches and chairs in the living room a few minutes later, Elizabeth asked again;

"What's going on, Connie?"

Connie sighed, and replied;

"Well, my extremely poor sense of judgment has struck again…I don't know when I'm finally going to learn to listen to my gut instincts. I mean, half of my brain tried to convince the other half that he was bad news from the start…"

Then she watched as her friends exchanged surprised glances. It was a long time since men had been part of her troubles, and neither Elizabeth nor Mia knew that she had been seeing someone, much less who he was. And by the looks they now exchanged they looked worried that she had gotten herself mixed up with a mob boss or someone equally scary. To put them at ease, she continued;

"It's not as bad as you think…honestly! It's just that I feel like an idiot, and I don't like that feeling…"

"Who?"

Connie had to chuckle when she heard her friends ask the question in unison, but she hesitated before answering. If she told them that, she would have no choice but to tell them the whole story. But then again, they wouldn't let up on her until they had all the details anyway…she knew that much about the two of them. So, finally she answered quietly;

"Bruce Wayne."

She couldn't deny that she felt somewhat pleased when she saw the reaction those two words afforded her, but it quickly faded. Just speaking his name made her think about him, and unfortunately also the whole sorry scene that had taken place the night before, which made the urge to hit him come on full force again.

On the couch opposite her, Elizabeth had regained the power of speech, and that in such a way that she almost shouted;

"Bruce Wayne?!?"

Mia's follow up remark of;

"Bloody hell!" Pretty much summed up everything, and there was silence for a while before Mia asked with astonishment in her voice;

"Are you serious, love?"

Connie nodded and said with calm detachment;

"Well, not any more…"

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, now having regained her usual calm.

With that, Connie began to tell them everything, starting with how she had been introduced to Bruce Wayne after a company meeting just before Christmas the preceding year, and how things had developed into a sort of friends with benefits relationship, before culminating in the previous night's…disaster.

During the course of the story they raided Connie's kitchen searching for everything that could be described as comfort food, and ended up in a discussion regarding the shortcomings and stupid behavior of men in general.

"I just don't get it…" Connie began, reaching for a bag of chips and opening it before continuing;

"He was always so nice to me… not just nice, he was a real gentleman…I've never met anyone like that before. I mean, David was an ass and I should have realized that long before I actually did, but…" She hesitated and pulled a couple of chips out of the bag and putting them in her mouth before finishing;

"I would never have believed Bruce capable of something like that. I'm mean, I'm not stupid, I know he's probably had more women that I would want to count, but there was nothing in his eyes, absolutely nothing that gave away any kind of feeling…not pleasure, not shame…nothing. It was like she'd bewitched him or something."

"Newsflash, sweetie," Elizabeth replied while digging a spoon into a carton of ice cream,

"The instrument these guys use to think with is south of the border…Face the facts, he knew exactly what he was doing, and the son of a bitch probably enjoyed it too."

"That's harsh," Connie remarked, to which Elizabeth replied;

"Look, sugar, you're probably the best woman I know, and I love you, but the reason you keep getting burned is because you're so damn determined to believe in the best in people."

Connie shrugged.

"That's how I get by," she said simply.

"It's also how you get hurt. And I hate it when that happens…"

Connie smiled, and it was a loving, somewhat comforting smile, before she said;

"I know you do, Liz…I know. I don't like it either, but that's the name of the game. You dust off your clothes, you piece together your pride, you have a drink or a glass of wine and you keep going."

"Stop making so much damn sense!" Mia suddenly exclaimed, and the sudden exclamation almost made her throw her ice cream spoon across the room in an unexpected gesture, but she managed to hold on to it.

"You're the one who's supposed to be devastated and urge us to hunt down Bruce Wayne and use his testicles for tennis balls…you're not supposed to be the sensible one!"

Elizabeth and Connie exchanged quick glances before they broke out in simultaneous, roaring laughter. Mia looked somewhat perplexed at the reaction before she seemed to understand and joined in.

"Honestly though," Mia continued after a while,

"You don't seem all that devastated over losing your Prince Charming…"

Connie shook her head, and replied;

"Well, I'm not exactly happy about it…and like I said, in retrospect I should have been smarter, but maybe…maybe he wasn't my Prince Charming after all. As much as I enjoyed the brief time we spent together, I don't have patience for those kinds of antics. Maybe he just decided he still wants to be the billionaire playboy… and I can live with that, but I refuse to be his back-up plan."

Connie spoke the words with conviction, but that same conviction did not quite manage to penetrate her own mind. To her own annoyance she realized that she wasn't quite as done with Bruce Wayne as she wanted her friends to believe. She wanted to be, but she was smart enough to recognize to herself that she really wasn't. The truth was that she wasn't sure what to do to forget him. A part of her told her, rightly, that he had now proved that he wasn't good enough for her…but another part couldn't forget how things had been when they had been alone together. He had been good to her…more than good…damn near perfect actually. But on the other hand, she wasn't completely sold on the secrecy she had committed to in those months. It had been tedious at times, having to make up plausible excuses so no one would suspect what she was really up to. She didn't have to do it, she had known that from the start, but, like she had told him every time he brought it up, she was more comfortable with secrecy than she was with being considered Bruce Wayne's latest arm candy. Last night had been the perfect example why.

She glanced out of her living room window. It was getting late, and it had been an hour or so since she had finally been able to usher her two friends out the door. She knew she should be getting ready for bed, after all she had work the next day…but something, she didn't know what, now seemed to have caught her eye.

Not really knowing what was pulling at her, she stepped closer to the window and looked out into the night. Even though summer was approaching, the Gotham nights were still pitch black, and she couldn't really see anything except the lights from the building opposite. But something told her to keep looking anyway, so she squinted, and just for a brief moment she thought she saw a flicker of movement on the roof of a nearby building. She blinked, but it was gone, and she was suddenly unsure of whether she had seen anything at all. Shaking her head, she turned away from the window and walked away.

* * *

He watched her go, and the feeling that welled up inside him was one he recognized, but it was also one a part of him had hoped never to have to associate with Connie. The pain of loss. He knew that if there had ever been a chance of explaining, of making things right, it had passed now, and he had made the painful choice not to act. Even though he knew that it was probably better for both of them in the long run, he couldn't bring himself to shut out the feeling that he had been unfair to her. It was the truth and a part of him felt that he deserved to suffer for it. The other part had other things to worry about…and more would soon be added to the list.

* * *

Officer Georgina Reed was crouching on the damp asphalt, surveying a huddled form that had once been a human being. She crinkled her nose slightly at the smell of the early stages of decomposition – she was fairly new to the police force and hadn't completely gotten used to dealing with the more unpleasant parts of the job yet.

"I can't believe they called us out here for this… the guy probably just drank himself to death. Not exactly a crime in this town…"

The sourly words came from behind her, and she half turned to look at her partner, the more experienced Harvey Bullock, who was now in the process of lighting a cigarette. She watched with a slight frown as he looked down on her and blew a cloud of bluish smoke in her direction. She blinked as the smoke hit her, and asked, her voice laced with sarcasm;

"Bullock…when was the last time you saw a guy drink himself to death with a gunshot wound to his forehead?"

She raised an eyebrow as the expression on his face changed from smug superiority to uncertainty, then smiled to herself. She was a rookie and she knew it, but that didn't mean she was about to take shit from the likes of Bullock.

Noticing something she carefully made her way closer to the body and cocked her head slightly to one side, trying to get a better angle to view what was apparently sticking out of the front breast pocket of the victim's jacket.

She fished a single latex glove out of the front pocket of her own jacket, and wrapped it carefully around the fingers on one hand before reaching out and removing the small item. For a moment she looked at it in wonder, before cursing under her breath.

In her hand was a playing card, the laminate almost shining in the faint sunlight that had crept into the alley. Two of Spades.

Bullock had heard her curse and was now surveying her with a calm detachment that didn't really suit the situation. The boredom was apparent in his voice when he asked;

"What have you got?"

She got up and walked over to him, holding the card between two latex covered fingers.

Bullock shrugged.

"So what? These guys will collect anything, you know that…"

"Yeah…but this guy stopped being ordinary when we discovered he'd been shot in the head, didn't he? Did you live under a rock for the past couple of years or something? Who do you know who liked to leave playing cards on his victims, Bullock? Who?"

She couldn't resist challenging him on this. He'd told her that she wasn't entitled to gut instincts yet, but quite frankly she didn't give a damn. A homeless guy with a single gunshot wound to the head wasn't common occurrence even for Gotham, and when you added this…

"Oh for fuck's sake, Reed! The Joker's locked up tight in Arkham; he's not walking around killing homeless people…"

He was clearly irritated with her now, but she pressed on, figuring that if she was going to piss him off she might as well do a good job of it.

"Say whatever you want, Bullock. I'm reporting this to Major Case…"


	4. In the Minutes to Midnight

**Disclaimer**: As usual, Batman and all other recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. No profit is being made from the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is in any way intended.  
**Author's Notes:** So, with my summer holiday nearing its end I decided it was time to post another chapter. As always, thanks go to my friend Mia for beta-ing, and to all of you for reading, reviewing and adding this story to your alerts and favourites. I really can't stress enough how much your reviews mean to me, they're basically the only gauge I have on whether or not you like what I'm working on, so please take the time to leave one. It doesn't have to be long or anything, just tell me what you think! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that you had a good summer.

* * *

There was a quick knock on the door, before it swung open to reveal a breathless Maggie Sawyer. Gordon, who was sitting behind his desk, trying to shuffle some of the never ending piles of papers and folders out of the way, looked up and frowned at the sudden interruption.

"Maggie? What are you doing here at this time of day?"

"There's something you need to see."

He was surprised at the sudden serious tone of her voice, and straightened in his chair as she placed a standard issue evidence box on his desk.

"What's going on, Maggie?"

While she pulled the lid off the box, Maggie Sawyer started;

"One of my guys got a call from the 3-6 a couple of hours ago requesting help with a murder investigation. The caller was a young officer named Georgina Reed, and at first we thought it was just a case of some rookie paranoia…but when she was asked to run the case, she informed us about this."

Sawyer pulled a clear plastic bag sealed with red evidence tape out of the box and handed it to Gordon. He took the bag, puzzled for a moment until he saw what the content was.

"The rookie found it in the victim's front pocket. Look familiar?"

In Gordon's hand was a playing card, looking like it could have come from any run-of-the-mill card deck. The value was Two of Spades.

"We've got a copycat on our hands?"

Maggie shrugged, shook her head and spread her hands wide in a somewhat disbelieving gesture.

"To be brutally honest, I don't know what the fuck we're looking at right now… We managed to get an I.D on the vic; his name is Charles Corcoran, born April 17th 1950. Best we could tell he's been on the street for at least a decade, which in itself is quite an achievement in this city…"

"Wait, wait… you're telling me this guy was on the street?"

Sawyer nodded.

"It gets better…This guy wasn't just shot, he was liquidated. Coroner pulled a single slug from his skull, so CSU ran ballistics…it was determined that the slug came from a custom made round. There were minute traces to be found except for the bullet itself, but as far as they can tell, everything about the cartridge, from the bullet to the primer seems to be a custom job. So far, it looks impossible to trace, and since we haven't found the actual cartridge yet…everything so far is qualified guesswork at best."

"So, safe to say this isn't a street fight gone bad…"

"Absolutely. No one on street level could have pulled something like this… And I find it hard to believe that a homeless guy ticked off some high level mob guy so bad an assassin was called in to finish him off…"

Gordon nodded in acknowledgement. That sort of thing didn't happen in Gotham. In that way at least, the city was still and old school mob town – every one of the mobs, from the Italians to the Russians had hundreds of people under their thumbs, and some were used for the very purpose of dealing with anyone who might make things difficult, in one way or another.

"There was something else, as well. It might be nothing, but I thought it was a little weird…" Sawyer continued after a while, searching through the box for something. After a few moments she pulled out another plastic evidence bag, this one containing a small figure that appeared to be made out of tin.

The figure was approximately two inches tall and in the form of an angel, its wings outstretched, and its hands holding an orb of some sort. Gordon frowned slightly and looked up at Sawyer, waiting for an explanation.

"We found it in the vic's hand," she began.

"Like I said, it might be nothing…or just something he picked up, but…"

Gordon nodded in understanding.

"Yeah…"

"Alright, I want copies of all the paperwork as soon as possible, and I want you to keep me up to date on this. The last thing I want right now is some lunatic killing innocent people. Any new lead, I'm your first call – you got it?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

It was Monday afternoon and several of the employees with Wayne Enterprises R&D Department were having what they referred to as an 'office dinner', which basically meant that all the people working overtime ordered takeout and caught a well-deserved break. Connie was a regular at those casual get-togethers, and today was no different. Together with Allan Shaw, Damien Cavanaugh, Kevin Merrick and Charlotte Ryan she made up that day's overtimers. Today they had deemed themselves too lazy to find an empty meeting room and had instead opted to simply camp out in the R&D offices. This meant that their respective desks were now cluttered with various take-away bags and boxes, and that some of the chairs were moved to form a loosely connected group in the space between. The conversation going on had split into groups according to subject, and Connie caught herself discussing a new tracking device currently in development with Charlotte, before the latter seemed to slip out of sync for a moment and Connie noticed that she was looking at something going on over her shoulder.

"Charlotte?"

At the mention of her name, Charlotte's attention snapped back to Connie, and she replied sheepishly;

"Yeah…sorry."

"What's going on?"

Charlotte hesitated, and seemed to measure her words carefully before continuing.

"Listen, Connie…did anything ever happen between you and Bruce Wayne? I mean, apart from the Opera thing…"

Connie cocked her head slightly to one side and surveyed Charlotte with a surprised glance.

"Well, no…" She lied hesitantly.

"Not that it's any of your business, really…"

"I know, I know, I didn't mean it like that." Charlotte replied quickly, before continuing;

"It's just that I can see him from here…Bruce Wayne, I mean. He's been standing outside one of the meeting rooms across the bridge for a while now, together with Lucius and some other people, and he has barely taken his eyes off you."

"What?"

Connie turned, more because of reflex than actual curiosity, and saw to her surprise that Charlotte was right. On the other side of the bridge, which was the company nickname for a broad walkway made of glass that connected an area that was mostly conference rooms with the work areas of R&D and a couple of related departments, Bruce Wayne was standing together with Lucius and some other men in business suits, and his attention wasn't on them at all – it was directed at her.

Even though there was a wall of glass and considerable distance between them, she could formerly feel how his gaze seemed to attempt to catch her and draw her closer. Although she was surprised at the intensity in his eyes, she wasn't about to fall prey to that look again. She wasn't one of the women so desperate for fame and riches that she would put up with everything, he should know as much… He'd had his chance, and he had blown it spectacularly.

She broke eye contact and turned back to face Charlotte again.

"Something did happen, didn't it?" Charlotte asked, her voice revealing that she suspected a confirming answer to the question, and she looked a bit disappointed when Connie merely shrugged in reply.

"It doesn't matter. If ever there was anything, it's over now…"

Connie had expected to words to come out sounding bitter, and was slightly surprised at herself when the tone of her voice sounded more like acceptance than bitterness. She saw that Charlotte wanted to ask more, but thought better of it and wisely let the subject of Bruce Wayne drop.

* * *

The shadow that again swept over Gotham that night had not been seen for days. But tonight the vengeful spirit of the thousands wronged by crime were again soaring over the rooftops, and more than one of those lurking in the shadows beneath hunched their shoulders and turned their eyes to the damp asphalt beneath them, not daring to look up for fear that the spirit would come for them.

He had a clear destination. He would do his normal rounds later, but first…first Gordon had requested a meeting. He didn't know why, but it was as if there was something in the air, something that warned him to be cautions, and at the same time seemed to whisper about the arrival of a new evil in the city, one that would not be easily identified. It was like Gotham herself issued a warning to whoever had it within themselves to listen.

The office was dark, and looked deserted, at least to anyone who didn't know better, which was exactly the point. Commissioner Jim Gordon was sitting in the darkness inside, waiting for his appointment to show. He couldn't help but smile to himself at how stupid the word 'appointment' sounded in his mind. The word sounded like one business associates would use, and the relationship between himself and the Batman hardly qualified as one between business associates – not by the usual definition, anyway. Gordon sighed, and just as his mind began to wonder how long he would have to wait this time, a familiar voice from the darkness said;

"What's on your mind…Commissioner?"

He looked around, and saw a looming shadow standing up against the wall next to one of the windows. If he hadn't been accustomed to looking for life in the shadows by now, he would never have seen the dark clad figure of a man…well, what he assumed was a man; he wasn't exactly sure what to think at times.

"I suppose you know about the bum they found dead on Market Street…" Gordon began, deciding that he wouldn't bother to give more information than strictly necessary. It hadn't escaped him that the Batman seemed to know everything he did, and sometimes more. And thus he had also accepted, to an extent, that information not inquired about had already been obtained, or was not needed.

"Charles Corcoran, aged 57, killed by one shot to the head with a custom made round. You found a playing card in his pocket, correct?"

Gordon knew that he really shouldn't be surprised, but he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at how assuredly this man presented his information, as if it was only natural that he had access to the same information the police did.

"Correct." Gordon finally replied, giving a brief nod to the shadowy figure as to confirm his answer.

"Anything else?" The shadow asked.

Gordon shrugged.

"He'd been on the street for approximately fifteen years, took a wrong turn somewhere during the economic depression and never found his way back. No family, he was married once but the ex-wife died years back and they didn't have any kids… War veteran, served in Vietnam, and according to some of his…friends on the street his vice was alcohol, nothing else. He didn't have any enemies that could account for the circumstances of his death."

"Anything on forensics?"

Gordon shook his head.

"Nothing. Forensically he was clean…the card as well. There was a figurine recovered as well, an angel, which was found in his hand. The hand wasn't clenched, so he probably wasn't holding it when he died. Which suggests that it was placed there after the fact. Probably along with the playing card."

The figure nodded almost invisibly in silent agreement, and Gordon watched him for a moment in hopes that he might offered a theory or some advice on how to proceed, but he was quickly disappointed.

"Major Case has nothing," he continued after a brief pause, letting frustration creep into his voice with every word,

"No suspects, no motive, no forensics…nothing."

"I'll see what I can do." The figure replied, with something in his voice that reminded Gordon of assurance.

For one brief moment Gordon closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with one hand, before asking the question that had been bothering him all the time he had spent looking through the case file.

"I mean…what kind of murderer leaves no trace?!?"

He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the Batman, a part of him hoping that he could force some sort of answer out of the elusive shadow. He uttered a single curse when he saw that the shadow was gone, but it was without force or intensity. As frustrating as it was, the Batman's disappearances were becoming something of a routine. Silently, Gordon instead answered his own question. _A damn good one_.

A few blocks away from City Hall Batman paused his flight on a rooftop. As he surveyed the street below he sorted through his thoughts on the conversation with Gordon. Not a lot had come to light that he wasn't already aware of, but the look in Gordon's eyes had confirmed to him that the two of them were both acutely aware of the warning signs popping up everywhere in this case. The victim was a nobody, but everything about the method implied the work of a professional assassin. Not only professional, but also damn good…the sort of person who could claim whatever price he or she wanted for their services, and because of that usually worked exclusively for high-end clients.

The crime didn't make any sense, which was nothing new in Gotham per se, meaningless crimes happened every day, in larger numbers than he would care to admit, but this…this was different. It wasn't just meaningless, it was illogical. Why would anyone spend such an amount of money on having a homeless man, without much in the way of earthly possessions, killed? There had to be something else there, something more that he had yet to discover.

The symbols bothered him, the playing card and the angel figure. He could not make sense of them. There was a possibility that Gordon was right, that this was some Joker copycat begging for attention, but somehow this wasn't spectacular enough to emulate the Joker. That, and the value of the card had been two of spades, and the Joker had only ever left cards of his namesake with his victims.

And to add further to the confusion, there was the angel figure. He wasn't sure what to make of that either. His eyes rested for a moment on the horizon as he thought of what his plan of action should be. The only thing he was certain of at this point was that he didn't know enough. He would have to correct that as soon as possible if he wanted to keep more innocent people from dying, because he was fairly certain that whomever was behind this wasn't going to stop at one. Gotham was a city full of vices, and the many people who had them often made enemies. If you were in the business of killing people, that made for an attractive market.

* * *

Connie stretched out on the couch and changed the channel once again, but as usual there was nothing really worth watching. She sighed, before she settled on a program about Ancient Egypt.

On the table beside her lay a worn leather-bound notebook, with several loose sheets of paper stuck in between the pages. She took it and opened it on the first empty page she could find, not really knowing what she would do with it, just that she would like something to do with her hands while her brain vegetated in front of the TV.

Grabbing a pen from nearby she started to draw small, random lines, making some of them curve and some cross others, and soon she realized she had outlined some kind of flower. Looking at it, she was surprised to find that she thought it looked familiar. It wasn't one that she could identify by name, but she got the feeling that she had seen it somewhere before. She drew a few more details, searching her mind for where she could have seen it before, but came up empty.

Sighing, she threw the book and the pen back on the table. She felt inexplicably restless – it was like her mind couldn't process one thought from start to finish, and she had no idea why that was. Usually she had no problem focusing her attention, but tonight every thought just seemed to pass through her head and disappear into nothing.

She thought for a second about calling some of her friends, to see if maybe they could distract her, but she decided against it. They had lives of their own and she'd feel stupid to count on them to entertain her.

Standing, she glanced out the window at the darkness outside, then out into the darkened hallway where she could see the outline of her coats and jackets hanging. On a whim she made up her mind to go for a walk, and so she stepped out into the hallway and turned on the light.

Taking a walk after dark in Gotham could be considered an extreme sport, but Connie was aware of the dangers. She had survived growing up in the city after all, not to mention that not too long ago she had survived, and nearly outwitted a crazed computer genius, so she didn't exactly consider herself helpless in any case.

In the top drawer of a dresser, next to the wardrobe that housed all her outerwear, lay a knife that had accompanied her on all night time walks and errands since she came back to the city almost two years ago. It was a gift from her grandfather, a military man, who somehow managed to combine being worried about her safety with a sound belief that she knew how to take care of herself. It wouldn't protect her from machine gun fire or getting caught in the crossfire between two mob gangs, but it felt reassuring to have none the less. She smiled a grateful smile as she thought of her grandfather, and clipped the knife in place on her belt, before taking one of the jackets out of the wardrobe and putting it on.

The night was chill, and there was a dampness in the air that was unique to springtime in Gotham. A fog had rolled in from the sea and now trailed the streets like a grey colored spirit, searching for something unknown. To Connie the cool spring night felt refreshing, and there was something about being in physical motion that seemed to calm the restlessness in her mind.

As she walked down the street she surveyed her surroundings. Although she now lived in a much safer neighborhood than the one she had grown up in, she could still see how the economic depression continued to make its mark on the city. The building she lived in and the surrounding ones were constructed pretty recently, but just turning onto another street she saw buildings that weren't. The flaking paint and plaster somehow became even more visible when the darkness enveloped the city and the desperate people finally dared to creep out of the shadows.

In Gotham the desperate people were everywhere, and unless you were blind, physically or emotionally, you could not avoid seeing them. Connie saw, but she had learned now how to see without seeing in a sense, to observe without getting too caught up in the hopelessness and despair of what she saw, and instead be grateful for the good she knew also existed in the city.

* * *

Even though it was late, there were still many people out, but very few of them were out walking just for the pleasure of it. Most hurried from one place to another in a rush to complete whatever errands they had and get home. In that, the woman he was watching stood out from her surroundings. She was walking with her head held high and a gentle sway in her hips. He could see that she was rather attractive, even if he did not care much. Once he began to watch someone through the scope of his rifle, then things like looks and attractiveness ceased to matter, along with everything else that could be said to matter in an ordinary human life. Because once they were in his scope, their life was effectively over. Then it was only a matter of his precision and timing, and how long he found it amusing to watch another human spend the last seconds of his or her life. Normally it didn't take him long to get bored, which meant that even though she was blissfully unaware, this woman was already living on borrowed time.

He watched her, and the long stretch of asphalt that was in front of her. At any time now he could end her life. All he had to do was pull the trigger. He had never admitted to any living soul how much he enjoyed the power that now surged through his veins, and he knew he never would, but he still lingered for a moment to relish the feeling of absolute power.

She _was_ beautiful. He could see that now. But she was also just another pawn in a game that was too vast for her to comprehend.

Very slowly, not to attract attention by making any sudden moves, he adjusted his position ever so slightly, and when he looked through the scope again, the woman was directly in his crosshairs. Even though he wore gloves, he could feel the cool metal of the trigger against the tip of his finger, and to him that was the only true invincibility, the only feeling worth paying any attention to.

Just as slowly he inhaled a lungful of air and held it as he let all his skill and calculation gather to create a moment of deadly accuracy. His mind was empty of thoughts as he squeezed the trigger and felt the slight recoil of the rifle as the projectile was sent on the path he had selected for it. He did not blink, but watched intently as the bullet found its intended victim and swiftly ended her life.

As the screams from the street below reached him he exhaled, and carefully began disassembling the rifle. No need to hurry. It would be at least a couple of minutes before anyone thought to call the police, and at least five minutes before any one of Gotham's Finest showed up. He wasn't worried about the police, but he knew all too well that the police weren't the only enforcers of the law in the city. He had crossed paths with Gotham's resident vigilante before, an encounter that had left him serving a stint in a high security prison. This time his employer had stressed the importance of completing the mission successfully, and because he wanted to comply he had taken necessary precautions. He knew how to deal with the _vermin_ if it should become necessary.

* * *

He was soaring above rooftops, about halfway through his regular rounds when he heard the sound of a gunshot. Even though the sound was in no way rare, it still made his stomach turn, and he instinctively jerked his head towards the sound. This was the wrong part of town for gunshots. This was where _she _lived.

His insides suddenly felt cold as ice, and he pulled into a dive. As the air rushed past him he focused on the buildings below, sorting through the distorted view until he found the one housing her apartment. But the shot hadn't come from there… For a moment he was relieved, until he noticed that all her windows were dark.

Pulling out of the dive he glided low over the rooftops, and just as a faint hope began to rise within him that it would turn out to be nothing, he saw the lifeless form that lay splayed out on the asphalt on the street below, and whatever hope he had harbored vanished instantly.

Her legs were bent at odd angles, and it was apparent that she had fallen exactly where she was shot. Her arms were spread wide, as if she had made some last, misguided attempt to break her fall, and her hair framed a face that had once been beautiful, but wasn't anymore. Now her eyes were empty, fixed on something that was invisible to all the living, and her face was blemished by a crimson mark that didn't belong there. Already her hair and clothes were soaked in her own blood.

He landed within a few feet of her, and quickly took the three steps necessary to reach the spot where she laid. His mind felt numb, and images from what seemed like a lifetime ago flashed before his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen.


	5. Gotham Nightfall

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable Batman characters are the property of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. The only characters belonging to me are the original characters created for the purpose of this story, including, but not limited to, Connie Tate. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's Notes:** First of all, sorry to have kept you guys waiting. I wanted to update sooner, but the demands of University caught up with me again, and because of that it just didn't happen as quickly as I would have liked. If it's any consolation, this chapter turned out quite a bit longer than I had expected it to. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added this story to alerts and favourites, I really appreciate it. And I love reading your reviews, so please keep writing them! It means a lot for me to get feedback from people reading my story, it lets me know what I'm doing right, or wrong. Finally, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

She didn't know what made her turn around. There was no reason to, no noise, no gust of wind…nothing. Yet she turned her head, and to her utter surprise a fine mist of warm liquid hit her face. On pure reflex she squeezed her eyes shut and brought a hand towards her face to shield it from the spatter. She felt something graze her shoulder, something with such force that she was momentarily knocked off balance and had to twist her upper body to compensate. Only when she had regained her balance did she lower her hand and open her eyes.

The first thing that registered with her mind wasn't what she saw; it was the smell that hit her nostrils. The smell of burned leather. Only when her mind had processed that did her eyes notice the body that lay splayed out on the street next to her. In bewilderment she looked at the hand she had held in front of her face, and saw tiny droplets of blood covering it. Her eyes darted from her bloody hand to the body lying in front of her, and it was as if the two images finally connected.

She wanted to scream, her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Without thinking she clamped a hand to her mouth as if to stifle the silent scream, but the gesture caused her to taste the droplets of still warm blood on her hand, and she felt instantly nauseous. She stumbled backwards in a useless bid to get away from the sight, but managed, almost despite herself, to remain on her feet. It felt as if her mind was frozen in time – nothing of the commotion around her seemed to register, all she could focus on was the woman in front of her, the one whose eyes now stared straight into eternity.

Connie couldn't help but stare at the body. In the back of her mind a part of her protested that it was a horrible thing to observe and that she should turn her face away, but her eyes remained fixed on the now dead woman. She was probably some years younger than Connie, maybe in her mid-twenties, with her dark hair cut in several layers and molded with paste to look messier than it actually was. Her eyes were blue, and the rest of her facial features were improved using a thick layer of make-up. The clothes she wore were the kind that a model could wear, but the fashionably torn jeans, and the black top that clung to every curve, revealing just a little more than was appropriate didn't have the same appeal on her body as it would undoubtedly have had in an advertisement. There was something about the luxury of the clothes that didn't match her body – she was skinny, too much so for it to be attractive, and through the daze that seemed to have clouded her mind Connie noticed bruises on the young woman's abdomen. That, combined with the overall state of her body, made her come to one conclusion; drugs.

She didn't know why she was so quick to make that judgment; in fact she was surprised that her mind had made any judgment at all, because her body still felt numb and uncooperative. But her mind now seemed to have snapped out of obliviousness, and was now racing, taking in the horrid details of the sight before her, replaying her memories up until the time when everything had slowed down only to freeze.

She hadn't noticed the woman at first – not until she had come close enough that Connie could see her out of the corner of her eye. Then, she had taken one step to the side to let her pass, and directly after she had done so, before she had even put her foot down… A violent shiver had gone through the woman's body, something that had made Connie turn her head to look, her only accomplishment being having her face sprayed with the other woman's blood.

Glancing around, she tried to see where the shot could have come from, but there wasn't a particular location that stuck out more than any other, and she instinctively knew that it was too late to get a glimpse of the actual shooter. What she did see, however, was a familiar, black figure soaring out of the sky, landing some feet away.

* * *

It took several moments for him to become aware of her presence. At first his focus rested solely on the body of the young woman, and felt relieved when he discovered that her features were not familiar to him. A part of his brain reminded him that he ought to be ashamed of himself for harboring that feeling. In his current incarnation he had sworn to protect Gotham's innocent, and although her appearance told him that the woman lying on the asphalt directly in front of his feet might not be as innocent as many others, he was still fairly certain that she did not deserve to be the victim of a rogue assassin. He took in the details of her appearance, the bruised skin barely visible through gaps in her clothing, the small burn marks on her fingers, the clothes that seemed oddly ill-fitting despite the young woman's thin, almost boyish body shape... When that was done he turned his attention to the perimeter, quickly scanning the rooftops for any sign of the shooter but coming up empty before turning his attention to the now nearly abandoned street.

There were only three people left on the street apart from him, and two of them were intoxicated enough that it would take much more than the sound of a gunshot to bring them back to the world from the twilight zone they were currently in. The third was the woman he had, despite his efforts to shut down his emotions, feared to be dead.

Their eyes met, and he was astonished by the force of her gaze. There were only traces of the dazed look of shock left in her eyes, and despite the fact that he knew it was most likely because of the adrenaline he was still impressed by how quickly she seemed to have regained her wits. He knew all too well what it was like to witness death, and while he was fully aware that the images of such an event were not easily shrugged off, he could not help but admire the woman standing in front of him for having the strength to work through them.

He was about to start the search for the right words to say when the sound of a second gunshot pierced the silence and made any words unnecessary. He spun around as the shot missed both him and Connie by inches in an effort to see their attacker. What he saw was the barrel of a shotgun pointing at him from a window in one of the neighboring buildings, but it was evident to him through that first shot that whoever was holding the gun this time was no sharpshooter.

That observation did not make the impact of the second shot hurt any less.

He had only just turned when a second round fired from the shotgun hit him in the chest, causing him to stumble and almost step on the dead body he had been surveying moments before. Fortunately for him the shooter's aim hadn't been quite straight, and the shot impacted the right side of his chest, where his armor was at its thickest. Still, it felt like he had his chest slammed into a brick wall, and the sensation, though in no way pleasant, made him even more determined to avoid the impact of a third round. He knew of a sure way to do that – he needed height. It was much more difficult to hit a high soaring bat than a sitting duck, and even more so when your aim was a little off to begin with.

His eyes turned to Connie again. There was no way he would leave her in a place like this, but at the same time Connie had proved to him time and time again that she had a mind of her own, and did not take kindly to being told what to do. He knew almost immediately when looking at her that he would have to risk whatever she could come up with. The two of them had fought before, and although he had not enjoyed it on any occasion, he knew that she was an able enough fighter. But he would risk her blows, her kicks, her anger and resentment if it meant she would be safe.

In one swift motion he pulled the grapple gun from his belt and aimed it with one hand, while he reached out, pulled her towards him and into a tight grip with the other. A moment later they were both airborne.

She didn't have time to react or to fight against the arm that had swiftly encircled her waist and pulled her off the ground, and by the time she fully realized what was happening the two of them were soaring so far above ground that she froze completely, not even finding her voice enough to utter the scream that desperately pressed against her ribs. But something soon turned her attention away from her own discomfort, and she realized that it was the shouts and calls of disgruntled Gotham citizens, following the two of them into the sky.

_Murderer!_

_Traitor__!_

He heard the screams as well as she did, probably better considering the various receivers built into his cowl, but they did not touch him half as much as the look he saw in her eyes when she heard the foul words people below called out to him.

Moments later he managed quite a graceful landing on a nearby rooftop, and when he was sure that his companion stood steady on her feet he loosened his grip before letting her go completely. He had expected her to step away from him once he did so, and was somewhat surprised that she made no move to get away from him. Then, as he watched her more intently, he understood why. She was too busy struggling against the aftereffects of the adrenaline surge to think much about him.

The fight or flight reflex was a powerful part of the human psyche, and for the most part it served the very practical purpose of self preservation. Only those like him, who had been trained in the shadow arts, knew that the difference between life and death sometimes lay in knowing which reflexes to suppress and which to enhance. But, he reminded himself quickly, this was not something she would be aware of, and he could not expect her to be. Once again she had wandered innocently into a dangerous situation, and had somehow found her way out alive and in one piece.

Slowly he brought one of his hands towards her, and as gently as he could placed it on her shoulder. He couldn't afford to scare her, they could only stand there for so long before the police showed up, and by then he needed her to be ready to run. As much as he regretted having put her in a situation that made her a fugitive like him, he flatly refused the thought of leaving her there. Not with a rogue sniper on the loose.

He stepped around her, so that the two of them stood face to face, and with his free hand he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Relax. Lower your shoulders, you're okay."

He listened as her breathing grew deeper and steadier, and her eyes focused more on him than their surroundings. After a while, he repeated;

"You're okay."

He could already hear the sound of a police helicopter in the distance, but he decided to give her a few more seconds to get her act together before telling her what he needed her to do. He needed to sharpen her senses again, to awaken some of her faith in her own abilities. She was in good physical shape, and a fighter…and if he could only get her to tap into that fighting spirit and trust him, he knew that they could make their escape.

"Listen to me. We can't stay here. The police will soon be on to me. We need to move…"

She nodded, and the words she spoke came with a realization;

"They're going to think you killed that girl…"

"Yes," he responded quietly, before continuing.

"And I brought you into it, and for that I am truly sorry…but right now, I need you to do something for me."

Their faces were only inches apart now, and he could see the stars reflected in her eyes as he leant towards her ever so slightly. For the briefest of moments it was as if looking into those eyes calmed the creature in his chest that always called out for revenge. She met his gaze without hesitation, and said;

"Anything."

What an extraordinary thing to say, he thought. Such a statement implied a familiarity and a trust beyond everything they shared, and he could not quite decide if he thought it incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.

"I need you to run. Run, and don't slow down…"

"We're standing on a roof… _where_ am I supposed to run?"

He looked pointedly at her, and after holding his gaze defiantly for a few seconds she looked around, and her eyes rested on the edge of the roof on the other side of the building. He saw her eyes widen in horror as she turned back to face him.

"No! No way!"

For a short moment he marveled at this woman's extraordinary ability to awaken completely contrasting feelings within him. One moment he wanted desperately to save her, protect her and keep her safe, only to feel the distinct desire to argue or shout at her the next. Why did this woman always have to argue at the most crucial moments?

"A moment ago you said you would do anything I asked of you."

"Yes, but I assumed you were going to ask me to cover for you, or lie for you, or something like that…not commit suicide by throwing myself off a roof. What exactly are you looking for anyway? A diversion?!"

The last two words tasted like poison on her tongue, and although she couldn't make out his facial expression she could feel that they had the desired effect. His grip on her shoulders tightened, so much that it was painful, and she expected to hear the voice of a beast struggling to contain its anger growl in her ear. But before he spoke the grip loosened again, and his voice was calm and reasonable.

"If you had believed that you never would have offered yourself to me. Now get moving, we're running out of time."

"I don't care what you say; I'm not following you over the edge of a roof."

"You have before," he replied dryly.

"My life was in danger then…now it's not. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate how you always seem to be around to save me every time I get shot at or something equally dangerous happens to me, but right now I don't need your help. Especially not when it entails throwing myself off a roof, presumably relying on that you have the good grace to catch me before I become roadkill."

She paused, and took one step back, surveying him. Her eyes, like her voice, were determined but gentle.

"I know the way home." She concluded with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

With that she turned and walked towards the door leading off the roof. He sighed to himself, and debated for a second if he should follow her. At this time of night, and in a neighborhood like this, that door was sure to be locked.

It took her about fifteen seconds to pick the lock and get the door open. As she stepped into the darkness behind it, she turned towards him and smiled, a single word defying the argument he was about to utter.

"Magic."

The sound of the police chopper was much more audible now, and he knew it would not be long until he would find himself in its spotlight if he didn't move. But something made him linger for just a moment longer.

Realizing what was happening, and that he would soon have to disappear, she said;

"I'm going to see you again, aren't I?"

There was confidence in her voice, but there was also something uncertain that she didn't quite manage to disguise.

The answer was simple, and definitive.

"Probably."

The words 'if you keep this up' hung, unspoken, in the air between them, and she smiled a short, rather embarrassed smile. It seemed they both had a gift for attracting trouble, whether they wanted to or not.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then gave her a brief nod before he broke into a run and disappeared from sight. With a sigh, Connie let the heavy steel door she had opened minutes earlier fall shut. Standing in the complete darkness inside she could clearly hear the roar of a helicopter engine overhead, and she didn't move until she heard the sound disappear into the distance. She hoped that he had escaped into the darkness where he could conceal himself until the police's interest faded, but at the same time a part of her knew that it was probably too much to ask. This was Gotham, after all…pleads and prayers both went unanswered here.

* * *

Fumbling through one of the pockets in her leather jacket she fished out her key ring, and using the small flashlight she had attached to it, she managed to find her way out of the darkened room. Some minutes later she excited the building, and walked briskly back towards her apartment, taking good care to avoid walking the same route she walked to get there. Even as she made her way through the nearby streets, she saw the police cars and the telling red and blue lights that told silently of yet another crime being committed. But this time it was somehow different…because she had been there, and tasted the blood of another human being in her mouth. Because she had been there to see how easily the life could be made to drain from another person. She couldn't brush this off and think of it as a part of a glum statistic, or think 'thank God it wasn't me'. It was too close for comfort, and she had no choice but to think about it.

Her mind was racing, and it was as if the adrenaline that had surged through her body earlier had now transferred to her brain. A strange combination of images was playing out to her inner eye, and it felt like she was suddenly seeing everything in high definition. Her mind latched onto and focused on details she hadn't noticed earlier, and every though was so crisp, so clear, and going by so fast that she had to struggle not to lose track.

By the time she unlocked her front door and stepped inside, she was sure that she had seen the dead woman before somewhere. It had been just an observation in passing, probably nothing important, but Connie now had an image pieced together of the same young woman exiting a building, with her arms wrapped around an attractive, dark haired man, probably some years older than she was.

She shrugged the picture off. It was probably nothing important…

As she entered the living room her eyes fell on the notebook she had abandoned, and another set of images flashed before her eyes. These images were of a very different woman, a dark haired beauty with eyes so intense that they threatened to kill you if you crossed her. In an instant Connie was transported back to the humiliating night she had spent at Wayne Manor, at Bruce's request. She clearly remembered the look of triumph in the other woman's eyes and the feeling of shame and humiliation she had felt – but now there was something more to the images now. A detail that she hadn't noticed before… Something in her mind suddenly connected, and she jumped onto the couch, grabbed the notebook and started to rifle almost feverishly through the pages until she found what she was looking for.

The page in question was the one on which she had drawn a rather peculiar looking flower earlier in the evening. The same flower, she now realized, had been the centerpiece of a tattoo on the mysterious woman's lower back. Connie could remember seeing it now, when the mystery woman had turned around to leave, and the image was so clear in her mind that she wondered why on earth she hadn't been able to make the connection before. Although, making the connection really didn't help her much, did it? She still had no idea what the flower represented, if indeed it represented anything at all. All Connie knew for certain was what her gut instinct told her; that there was _something_ about that woman.

* * *

Looking back towards the waterfall, as if to make absolutely sure that no one had followed him, the creature of the night known to most people as Batman removed his mask, and with that action he became someone else entirely.

Bruce Wayne breathed hard, and tried to ignore the fact that it hurt to breathe, all the while cursing his own stupidity under his breath. He had risked her involvement once again, and this time it had been purely for his own sake. She hadn't been who the killer was after; he should have realized that the moment the bullet missed her by inches. An assassin that good didn't have margin for error, there was no collateral damage unless he or she wanted it to be. Connie Tate had not been the intended target, and still he had tried to save her out of some misplaced sense of chivalry. If it hadn't been for the fact that the woman had the good sense to stand up for herself and argue with him he would probably have dragged her along on the run from the police. He should have known better, damn it! He was already balancing a fine line, and he _knew_ he could not afford to be affected by whatever he felt as Bruce Wayne. And yet…the unexplainable sparkle in her eyes still had the same profound effect on him. He had felt it again tonight, and now he wondered if that was not at least part of the reason why he had behaved so foolishly. Because, although he didn't like to admit it, the feeling that rushed through his veins when his eyes met hers, felt just as good, if not better, than the exhilaration he sometimes felt while behind the mask.

"Admiring the fact that you are once again very likely to make the eleven o'clock news?" A voice inquired dryly from behind him, and he turned to see the familiar silhouette of Alfred Pennyworth emerging from the shadows.

He shook his head slightly, and replied;

"I don't think so, Alfred."

"Then perhaps a moment to appreciate a job well done?"

Bruce shook his head again, and said;

"I wish… I was actually taking a moment to berate myself on being such an idiot."

"Imagine that." Alfred replied, as he stepped towards his master to help with the removal of the latter's partly shattered body armor.

"No need to pull out the sarcasm, Alfred," Bruce replied, flinching as Alfred removed the breastplate of the armor.

"Of course, Master Wayne," Alfred responded. Not missing a beat he gave the breastplate a cursory glance before he decided that it was damaged beyond repair and unceremoniously threw it aside. Then, he continued;

"Then may I be so bold as to ask the reason for you self-proclaimed…idiocy?"

Bruce paused for a moment to consider his response, and then offered his butler a slight smile as he replied.

"I think you know already… Her name is Connie."

"The name does ring a bell," Alfred acknowledged, offering a smile in return before continuing;

"Has Miss Tate done anything to get in over her head again?"

Bruce shook his head as he discarded the final piece of armor and started dressing in the more civilian clothes that were already laid out for him.

"No, not this time. Not yet, anyway… Tonight she was playing the role of the innocent bystander."

"I wouldn't think that too surprising, Master Wayne, considering the city we are in."

"Probably not," Bruce acknowledged, "but it seems that whatever happens, wherever I turn, she's there, in one way or another. And every time I see her, a part of me is scared for her sake, even if she isn't."

"Most would assume that to be a very normal display of human emotions," Alfred countered, "It's nothing unnatural, you care about this woman."

Bruce nodded.

"I do." He said softly, before nodding towards the various pieces of armor that had now been reassembled to make out the ghost of Bruce Wayne's nighttime personality.

"But he can't afford to. That's the problem. I'm afraid that if she gets into a tight spot again where I can't save her, Bruce Wayne and Batman will get mixed up in some way. It was hard enough to watch her struggle alone the last time. I don't know if I can do that again."

"But she not in danger, you said so yourself Master Wayne…"

"I know. It's the fear that she might be that bothers me, especially if I'm the cause."

"And just how do you presume to be the cause of all her troubles?" Alfred asked, his voice sounding somewhat amused at the prospect.

"If I try to keep her safe by saving her the way I did tonight, without her being in any real danger, my well intended rescue mission might as well translate into a world of trouble for her."

Alfred calmly listened as his master gave him further details on what had happened in Gainsly earlier that evening, and when the details were all given he seemed to consider everything for a moment before replying;

"I wouldn't worry too much, Master Wayne. If anything, Miss Tate's actions prove that she's smart enough to argue with you when she thinks it necessary."

Bruce met Alfred's gaze with his own and smiled at the other man's determination to see a bright side to everything. It seemed his trusted butler hadn't quite given up hope of him reconciling with Connie, but Bruce couldn't bring himself to share it. The night's events had been yet another example of why his life was best lived with as few people as possible getting close. Connie had been only a short distance away from taking a shotgun blast intended for him, and he didn't even want to think about what would have happened if the person aiming said shotgun had been an even worse shot.

But at the same time his actions showed that he hadn't managed to forget her, and that her image, and the thought of her, was even closer than he had suspected. He wasn't sure about how best to deal with that, but he knew that he'd better find a way, because the murdered young woman had just strengthened his suspicions that something was afoul in the city once again, and by now he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it was a part of something more than the mob war that had been going on in the city for over a decade.

* * *

Police Captain Maggie Sawyer pulled a hand through her short-cropped, blonde hair and surveyed the scene. The street was swarming with technicians and other people from the crime scene unit, while a group of fellow police officers were busy manning the tapes that sealed off the scene, trying to keep the steadily gathering crowd as bay and in a futile attempt to keep the assembled members of the press from doing their own documenting of the crime.

Death. It was the cheapest form of entertainment in the city of Gotham, and the part that Maggie Sawyer found most un-entertaining about her job. The sight before her had become a dangerous habit by now, and most nights she came home wishing she could just quit her job, go away somewhere and start fresh. But she never did. Every day she woke up and went to work, and the things she saw were always images of the same, bleak city.

She sighed, and prepared to soldier on when a young woman ducking under the tapes caught her attention. The youth looked instantly out of place, standing out as if in color against a background of black and grey. She was in uniform, with auburn hair brushed back from her face and secured in a pony tail. As she approached, Maggie Sawyer could see that her eyes were a clear blue, and the gaze in them was alert and observant. Maybe Gordon had made a good call on this…

The young woman was Officer Georgina Reed, the same who had called in the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of a homeless man from one of the precincts downtown. It had been Gordon's idea to bring her along for this case, which appeared to have the same M.O. It seemed the Commissioner believed that a young officer, practically fresh out of the Academy, ought to be given a fair chance to prove herself before being banished to an obscure beat in a shady area. Maggie Sawyer would have to agree, which was also why she had agreed to put in a call to the captain of Precinct 36 and ask to borrow one of his officers. After some persuasion it was agreed that Officer Georgina Reed would be temporarily on loan to Major Case, and depending on how she fit in, the transfer might evolve into something permanent. But so far, that was nothing more than a thought in Captain Sawyer's mind. She needed to see how the rookie worked first.

Sawyer had decided to partner Reed with Detective Josephine MacDonald for the duration of the case. Josephine, more commonly called Josie, was a talented Detective that had transferred from Homicide shortly after Gordon was made Commissioner. She was sharp, clever, and a good person to learn the ropes from.

After quickly explaining to Reed what she was doing there, Sawyer introduced her to Josie MacDonald and the two walked off together, with MacDonald briefing Reed on the details. Maggie Sawyer turned away, already having heard the briefing, and contemplated braving the sea of onlookers and press people when she saw a familiar figure bend low to get under the tapes.

She remained where she was, and saw the wiry form that was James Gordon quickly single her out from the crowd.

"Commissioner…" She greeted him when he approached her, but when she saw how he raised an eyebrow she followed up with a more personal;

"Jim…"

"Maggie…" He returned, offering her a crooked, charming smile that she assumed he used mostly with friends and family.

"You checking up on me?"

The smile turned briefly into a grin, and he said;

"I wouldn't dare. I came to see how you're tackling the newbie…"

Sawyer shrugged.

"So far, so good, I guess. Haven't really seen her work yet, but I partnered her with MacDonald. If she can't handle it, we'll know soon enough…"

Gordon nodded, and then gestured towards his surroundings.

"So, tell me – what are we looking at?"

* * *

It was nighttime again by the time he made his way onto Gotham's streets. Not because he needed the darkness to disguise himself, but because he preferred to blend in, and with the location his client had set up for their meeting being a nightclub it was only natural that he wait until the place was crowded with unsuspecting patrons.

The club was called Orchid, and it was located in a part of the city that he had learned was unofficially known as the Diamond District because of its appeal to the young, rich and famous people of the city. Orchid was the latest hot spot to cater to the whims of the so called it-crowd, and as he walked in he thought that his client had picked a good spot for their meeting. He blended in seamlessly with the crowd, and no one would suspect that he wasn't just another well-to-do lawyer or stock broker out looking for kicks.

The interior was modern, almost sparse, with white and black being the two primary colors used, together with brushed steel accents. He watched the clientele and concluded that these were the same wealthy people you could see everywhere in similar clubs and establishments.

Without breaking step he headed directly for the flight of stairs that lead to the downstairs VIP rooms. He had been assured that no one would stop him, and he was pleased to find that the assurance held true.

The basement was quite different from the ground level in terms of furniture and decoration, and bore more resemblance to a lavish Victorian era home than a nightclub. Dark wood and deep velvets were everywhere, and the only thing that ruined the imagery of a return to ages past was the people, still dressed in modern clothes, who lounged around enjoying all kinds of illegal creature comforts.

For once, he largely ignored his surroundings and quickly made his way to the room where he knew they were waiting for him. The door swung open, and he was admitted without a word. He had expected the room to be filled with people, and was somewhat surprised to find that he stood face to face with only one. A woman, one who appeared strangely ageless, with dark hair, piercing eyes and an oddly captivating face. He admitted to himself that he did think her beautiful, her body was toned but still curved in all the appropriate places, but it was the alluring quality her face possessed that drew him in. It was the same quality that could make a room fall silent when she entered it, and that made all men desire nothing more than to throw themselves at her feet. But they were all deceived.

This woman was dangerous, deadly, even more so than he was, but only a trained eye like his could ever hope to tell. A trained eye could see the snake before it struck, while those poor souls who fell prey most often did not even realize it until their life were draining from their bodies.

She smiled, and the smile was pleasant.

"Good evening, Mr. Lawton."

Rising from the chair she had been sitting in, she stepped confidently towards him, and it was apparent that a reply to her greeting was neither expected nor needed, but he gave her an acknowledging nod regardless.

"My people tell me that last night was a success. So far you've proved yourself to be a good investment, Mr. Lawton."

Recognizing that this was probably the closest he would get to an outright compliment from this woman, he replied;

"Thank you, ma'm."

"I have another target for you." She continued casually, before turning away to retrieve a large, brown envelope, the same kind that could be found in thousands of offices around the city.

"No more of simply picking them off the street, then?" He inquired.

She shook her head gently.

"That was simply a way of getting his attention. Now that we have it, it's time to move on. I do believe I promised you a challenge, Mr. Lawton… It's time I started to deliver on that promise, don't you think?"

She offered him the envelope, and he took it without hesitation. It was unsealed, and he quickly opened it and looked at the content. A name, a few images and some basic information, place of residence, place of employment and the like. It was all he really needed.

"Do you foresee any problems with this?" She asked, and he looked up to discover that she had been watching him intently. He shook his head with confidence.

"No, ma'm. Nothing."

She nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good. I'll see to it that the appropriate funds are transferred by tomorrow."

As he walked out of the club a few minutes later, the brown envelope tucked safely into a pocket in his coat, his mind was already occupied with how best to execute his latest target. His last words to his client were true, he saw no potential problems – none substantial enough to mention, anyway, and he had already thought out at least five different ways to approach the target. Now followed a couple of days of surveillance, while he decided which of his methods would be most effective, and once that was decided…he would make sure to keep his client satisfied.


	6. Face to Face

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all other recognisable characters are the copyright of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. I own nothing but the original characters in the story and the plot. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit it being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's Notes:** Again, I'm so sorry about the delay. School has really caught up with me now, and as much as I sometimes wish I could ignore everything school related and focus on writing, I can't. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review and/or add this story to their alerts or favourites. It really means alot to me :) That said, I always crave more reviews, so I would love it if you took the opportunity to tell me what you think. It's a great motivation for me to keep writing. As always, big thanks also go to my friend Mia who has once again beta'ed this. Finally, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I honestly don't know how you do this!"

The words, said half in exasperation and half in anger, came from Georgina Reed who had just rifled her way through about a dozen GCPD folders without finding anything useful. Josie MacDonald looked up from her desk where a similar pile of folders lay scattered and eyed the newcomer with a look of calm amusement on her face.

"Come on, Gina. Don't bail out on me now, rookie."

"It's just…" Georgina didn't finish the sentence, but made a gesture with her hands as if she was strangling someone or something invisible. Josie raised an eyebrow, but smiled a knowing smile. She recognized the frustration all too well, having come face to face with it on more occasions than she could be bothered to count in her years on the force.

"We've got a murder smack in the middle of The Cauldron, which is an area the Irish mob practically owns. The victim had drugs in her system as well as in her possession, and judging from the amount she's probably both a user and a dealer…and yet she's killed by a single gunshot wound to the head, just like the homeless guy we had up at Crown Point. Everything about this looks pro, and we've got at least half a dozen known mob enforcers slash hitmen in a two mile radius… But apart from the area she was found in there is absolutely nothing to indicate that this is mob related, and nothing about this fits the M.O of anyone we have on record."

Georgina stopped to draw her breath, before continuing;

"And just to add to the confusion there's at least a dozen people who claim they saw the Batman take down the victim, before kidnapping another woman. The only problem with that scenario is that; A – there are no missing persons that fit the description of the supposedly kidnapped woman, and B – To our knowledge, the Batman has never used guns as part of his M.O before. And I seriously doubt he's suddenly begun leaving playing cards on his victims, so…"

Georgina finished her recap, her voice clearly frustrated, and leant back in her chair rubbing her eyes with both hands. Some of the exasperation had rubbed off on Josie now, and she replied with a sarcastic;

"Welcome to the GCPD…"

They were both silent for a while, surveying each other and their paperwork alternately from their side of the desks. After a while, Georgina said hesitantly;

"So, I've got a question…"

"About what?" Josie asked.

"Bullock… rumor has it he used to be a hotshot in Homicide. So how'd he end up in charge of the Bowery and Crown Point beats?"

Josie hesitated. Harvey Bullock continued to be a bone of contention within the department. Josie had met both those who would swear blind that he was a good cop and innocent of the crime that had gotten him demoted, and those who thought him guilty and deserving of his fate. Finally, she answered;

"Harvey Dent."

She watched how the youth's eyes widened before continuing.

"I'm sure you heard of the White Knight's bid to rid the city of crime and corruption?"

Georgina nodded. Frankly, it had been kind of hard to miss Harvey Dent's crusade, the campaign had spread far and wide, and most of Gotham's citizens had gotten caught up in the whirlwind. Suddenly setting up a neighborhood watch wasn't something that instantly connected to being suicidal, and tips regarding corrupt police officers were flowing in left and right to the websites and tip lines set up for the purpose.

"I'm sure you realized eventually, like most people did, that although it did get a lot of worms crawling out of the woodwork, some decent people were flushed out as well…"

Josie hesitated. She had worked with Bullock in Homicide, and although he was far from lacking in faults, she was pretty convinced that deep down he was essentially a decent guy. But he had made his share of screw-ups on the job, to the extent that she couldn't say he was entirely undeserving of the punishment given. Knowing Bullock though, she thought that he'd probably find his way back into the fold sooner or later.

"Harvey Bullock wasn't dirty," she finally continued, before adding;

"But God knows he's got more vices and faults than most of us. I don't remember what he got busted on, but if it was something to do with drinking on the job I wouldn't be surprised. I know this, though…Gordon probably put him on the Bowery beat because he knew Bullock is one of the few people who can take it."

The last sentence came out sounding more like praise than she had meant it to, so Josie added;

"Fuck, that guy is already as jaded and disillusioned as they come… There's nothing this city can do to him anymore."

Georgina nodded to mark that she understood, but didn't say anything. Wasn't much to say to something like that anyway, was there?

Josie leant back in her chair and surveyed the newbie she had unexpectedly been partnered with. She recognized that the girl had some potential, but couldn't deny that when she had first heard the news of the newcomer, she had thought that the Commissioner's will worked in mysterious ways. Now, she was a little more understanding of his decision, seeing for herself that this girl had more substance in her than that required of a beat cop. She was alert, aware of the importance of details, but without being cocky, as was so often the case with new recruits. Josie had seen her fair share of those who came out of the police academy expecting to be the ones who single-handedly cleaned up the city. Instead, Georgina Reed had proved that she had character, as well as the will to learn from the more experienced, which was always a good quality to start out with. As to why Gordon had picked her, Josie could only guess. Maybe it was an attempt to give someone else the chance to work their way out of a beat that Gordon himself had walked for years? She didn't know, and she knew that she didn't need to… Georgina Reed was there with her now, and she planned on taking the advantages that a pair of fresh eyes afforded her.

"So, how'd you end up in PD?" Josie asked, in an attempt to fill in some background on her temporary partner.

Georgina shrugged.

"Figured it was a good a career as anything else…"

"Bullshit." Josie said firmly. To clarify, she continued;

"You don't sign up for the police academy in a city like this because you've got nothing better to do…there's gotta be more."

Georgina shook her head while replying;

"Nah, I'm not much of an idealist…" She smiled slightly, as if to acknowledge how foolish idealism usually was in Gotham.

"I signed up for the Academy because it was the first thing that came along after I realized that I was probably going to end up dead if I stayed at home any longer. And I'd done competitive shooting as a hobby, so you know… I thought maybe I could use that for something."

"Competitive shooting, huh? Rifle or pistol?" Josie inquired.

"Pistol, mostly." Georgina answered.

"Tried rifle shooting for a bit, but it didn't suit me that well…" She finished off.

"So, what do you make of this?" Josie asked, gesturing to the dozens of folders spread out on both their desks.

Georgina shrugged.

"Same as everyone else… This guy is good. Really, _really_ good. We're not talking about a disgruntled ex-Marine or Army Ranger here…this is different."

"Yeah…" Josie agreed,

"That's what worries me." She concluded with a sigh.

Silence fell between the two of them and after a while Josie rose from her chair and stretched in an effort to bring some life back into her limbs, numb from hours of overtime sitting on a crooked desk chair. She watched for a while as Georgina apparently attempted to stare down the pile of folders on her desk, probably hoping that one of them would miraculously open and reveal all the information they needed. Josie shook her head, not at the fact that Georgina was trying to coax answers out of the folders, but at the fact that they were there, on overtime, searching for leads that were nowhere to be found. After a while, she said;

"Hey, Gina… time for a break. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee…"

Georgina looked up, and after holding the other woman's gaze for a moment she nodded gratefully and rose from her chair. It took them only a few minutes to get their jackets and head out the door and across the street to an old school diner that was a familiar haunt for Josie and the rest of Major Case.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the two officers their trip to the diner caused them to miss their Commissioner by minutes. Jim Gordon had decided to pay a personal visit to two of his officers, having heard from Maggie Sawyer that the two of them were digging deep into abandoned case files in an attempt to turn minimal forensic evidence into a case. He thought they might need some encouragement. That, and he'd had an argument with Barbara, and had decided to walk off his frustration before the argument turned into a screaming match that would wake the kids, or if things got really bad…the neighbors as well. So, in reality, maybe it was he who needed something to take his mind off the troubles he faced on the home front.

It wasn't easy, he thought while scaling the disintegrating concrete stairs leading to the Major Case offices. He was always walking around with a guilty conscience, mostly because he put in so many hours at work that he hardly saw his wife and kids anymore, but also because on the rare occasions when he actually got home in time to put the kids to bed a part of him felt like he was avoiding the responsibilities of the job. He knew that there were men and women, many of whom had families who missed them, still in precincts all over the city pulling a double shift or doing overtime in the relentless effort to clean up the city.  
He sighed. The situation seemed hopeless – he couldn't win no matter what he did.

When he entered he found the office currently occupied by Detective MacDonald and Officer Reed empty, and he turned around to see if maybe, for some reason, they had decided to move their business somewhere else. But the other offices looked just as deserted as the one he had been about to enter, so he turned back and almost jumped at the sight that met him.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed before he could stop himself.

The sight itself was familiar, a black figure, caped and masked, who seemed to loom over him no matter in what setting the two met.

"Sorry." The figure said, in a matter-of-fact tone that didn't sound the slightest bit apologetic.

"Your detectives stepped out for a moment." It explained further, as if that one sentence was meant to clear up the barrage of questions now flying through Gordon's mind.

"Right." He finally managed to respond, though not sounding half as confident as he'd like. He hated to be caught off guard like this, especially by this man, this ghostly creature of the night who could slip through shadows and walk through locked doors.

"And you?" He demanded after a moment, having regained his composure.

"I needed a closer look at your records."

_Of course_, Gordon thought. Another one of the Batman's quirks was that he obtained information found in confidential police records with an efficiency that implied that the records in reality belonged to him, and that he only let the GCPD borrow them out of the goodness of his heart.

To be fair, he had contributed a large amount to many of the files in question, but Gordon still struggled to believe that his need to see police records was the Batman's only reason for being there.

"I thought you had copies of most of that stuff already?" Gordon asked, not bothering to try and keep the doubt from seeping into his voice, before he continued;

"Why are you really here?"

"It's not something I lack, Commissioner – it's something you need."

The somewhat cryptic reply was soon explained, as the Batman produced a black folder from the folds of his cloak and held it out to Gordon. Gordon hesitated for a moment, before he stepped forwards and took it. Without a word he opened it and leafed through the pages, reading quickly through the information on each page.

The file wasn't comprehensive, only about a dozen pages and a few grainy still frames that looked like it came from a couple of different security cameras. In the frames the figure of a man had been caught in mid-motion, but apart from the short cropped, dark hair Gordon could not make out any features that could possibly be used to identify him.

He leafed back to the first sheet of paper and read the name that headed the page of vital statistics.

"Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot."

The name echoed dangerously somewhere in the back of Gordon's mind, and for once he didn't have to search long for the meaning.

"You remember him, don't you Commissioner?"

Gordon found the images again, and looked at the haunting image captured in grayscale, before he said slowly;

"Yes. Yes, I remember him."

Deadshot – the assassin known throughout the criminal underworld for his extraordinary skills. To Gordon's knowledge the assassin had never failed to kill a target in his entire career, except one. And that one person was standing directly in front of him now.

He remembered the case like it was yesterday. It began with the murder of community activist Teresa Williams. She had been killed while attending a fund-raiser that would contribute to cleaning up one of the city's worst areas. Single gunshot wound to the head, fired from a considerable distance. Teresa Williams was dead before she hit the floor.

Some time later, after Gordon himself had found himself in the sights of the assassin for a short time, Floyd Lawton was connected to influential Gotham businessman Ronald Marshall and both were put on trial. Gordon had thought Deadshot's career had ended there, but things were beginning to look like he had been wrong.

"I thought they locked him up?!"

He wanted to keep his voice calm and his mind objective, but he found it more and more difficult to do any of the two. He knew that the Gotham justice system was flawed…on a good day, but he was still shocked that a convicted killer, with so clear evidence against him, could be cut loose.

"Money opened his cell door back up." Batman countered, and although Gordon was still angry at the news, he couldn't say he was surprised.

"I have reason to believe that whoever paid for Floyd Lawton's…release is the same who is funding his current escapades." Batman continued after a while.

Gordon sighed. This case was getting worse by the second. A day or so ago, it looked like both homicides would end up as new additions to the vast archives of the cold case squad after a few days of futile investigations, but now… Now he knew that that couldn't be the case. The murders were no longer random acts of violence with certain identifying marks in common; they were the work of one of the world's more prolific assassins. For once he had no reason to question the Batman's findings, even now, as a public enemy, he had resources beyond anything the GCPD could dream of, and he used them well. Gordon dreaded the next question he had to ask, but he knew there was no way around it.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Whatever patience Gordon had with the city's caped crusader that night disappeared with that reply, and he could no longer keep the frustration and anger out of his voice.

"Damnit! You can't just come in here and give me some bread crumbs and barely a sliver of information; I need to know who's behind this maniac!"

There was a long pause and the tension between the two of them suddenly felt very present. For a moment Gordon thought that the figure standing directly opposite was going to pounce on him, like some out of control wild animal. But after a long moment of stifling silence, the figure simply said;

"So do I, Commissioner…So do I."

* * *

The day started quite normally in Research and Development, with a small fire and a near explosion. Connie had dealt with both things before, and didn't think either one extraordinary. She was fortunate enough to work with experienced people, and that made her job so much easier when dealing with the various day to day catastrophes that irrevocably came with being involved with a department like R&D. The unusual happened less than an hour before all of them were due to have lunch.

Connie was typing at her computer, trying to finish some programming, when she suddenly heard an uncharacteristic outburst coming from one of the nearby desks.

"Shane, come on! You promised!"

She turned to see an exasperated Charlotte, who had suddenly raised her voice and was gesticulating wildly towards her phone.

"I don't care if he's the head of Atlantic Records, you can't do this to me today!"

There was a pause, and then another outburst.

"No, damnit! Dylan is your son too, and you promised me you could look after him today!"

Another pause, as the man on the other end of the line tried to make his final argument, but he was cut short when Charlotte slammed the phone down. She sat staring at it for a moment before sighing and burying her face in her hands.

Connie pushed her chair away from her desk, rose and walked carefully towards Charlotte.

"Problems?"

Charlotte nodded.

"Yeah. Shane was supposed to look after Dylan today, but now he calls me up out of the blue and says I've got to take him because he's got a meeting with some record company. And this is after I told him at least a dozen times that I can't, because I've got a presentation with that company from New York…"

Connie nodded in understanding. Shane Hamilton was Charlotte's on again – off again boyfriend of the past few years, and the father of her son Dylan. He was a talented musician, Connie had seen him with his band play in some local clubs, but he apparently wasn't much of a planner.

"It's ok," Connie said comfortingly, before continuing;

"I can take it."

"What?"

"The presentation. I can take it."

Charlotte looked up, seemingly stunned by the offer, and it took her a moment to collect her thoughts enough to reply.

"No, no – I… you shouldn't have to…"

Connie rested her hands on Charlotte's desk and looked sideways at the other woman before smiling and saying;

"Look, it's really not a problem. I'm not going to get that much done today anyway… I was supposed to help Kevin build a prototype off some drawings that Aerospace sent over to us for some unknown reason, but because of a major screw up from the company that was supposed to supply us with parts, everything has been delayed…"

She paused, in order to give Charlotte, who still seemed kind of shocked, the opportunity to absorb this new information, before continuing;

"It's the audio project, right? That you're supposed to be presenting?"

Charlotte seemed to snap out of a daze, and quickly replied;

"Yeah…"

"Yeah, I thought so." Connie said in response, still smiling.

"But I can't bring Dylan here, he's three years old, and you know boys at that age…it doesn't matter how close I watch him, he's bound to push a random button somewhere or…"

Suddenly the two of them were interrupted by a yell coming from nearby, and both spun around to see Mark with a small white robot apparently attached to his nose. A couple of desks to their right roaring laughter broke out, and Connie turned back to Charlotte and said;

"And in what respect would that make him any different than the rest of us? I know more than one person here who has the mind, not to mention the attention span of a 3 year old and gets paid for it… And besides, Dylan is adorable, so if you can't watch him every split second, I'm sure at least three other people here will."

She nodded backwards to indicate Mark, who was now unsuccessfully trying to get the robot to let go of his nose. Charlotte smiled, almost despite herself.

"Stop arguing, ok. I'm trying to help you out here… Now, you call Shane back, and you tell him he's a lucky bastard, because your boss just happens to be a fan, and then you go pick up your son and spend the rest of your day watching him do crazy stuff along with everyone else here. I'll deal with the New Yorkers."

Charlotte smiled again, and this time the smile was heartfelt, genuine and completely directed at Connie. Connie answered the gesture with a brief smile of her own, before turning away and heading back towards her own desk where Mark was now shrieking her name in the characteristic voice people get when they have something clamped over their nose.

"Connie, help! It's got my nose!"

Connie couldn't help but grin widely as she approached Mark, which was a polite reaction compared to Kevin, Allan and a few others who were doubled over, laughing almost manically. With experienced hands she took the robot and quickly found the switch that released the grip reflex it was equipped with. Mark, though apparently relieved to get his nose back, couldn't quite let go of his dislike for the robot.

"What the hell is that thing?!"

"Hey, don't insult him!" Connie replied, jokingly defensive.

"His name is Marvin, he's Simon's friend…and he clearly doesn't like you."

She gestured towards her desk where a black robot named Simon was also wandering around, hoping that it would help her explain, but when she saw Mark glaring at the robot while rubbing his nose she burst out laughing. Mark's glare switched to her for a moment, but it was equally apparent that he couldn't manage to stay mad at her for long, because as he turned and walked away, still rubbing his nose, she saw the hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. As strange as she knew it sounded to some people, it was in moments like this Connie Tate thought that she really loved her job.

* * *

A couple of hours later, after reading Charlotte's notes on the presentation and making some of her own, having lunch, and tearing herself away from the absolute cuteness that was Charlotte's son Dylan, who was now entertaining all of R&D with his antics, Connie was ready to meet with her clients. She was walking along one of the spacious corridors that lead to some of the meeting rooms when she heard someone call her name.

Bruce Wayne was standing in the front room to Lucius Fox's office, waiting for him to finish another important meeting. He was gazing out over the office landscape in front of him without really paying attention, at least not until he saw a familiar figure walking in his direction.

She looked, if possible, even more beautiful now than the last time he had seen her. There was something about her attitude, she carried herself with a lot more confidence in this landscape than she had done in Wayne Manor. But that wasn't her fault, he reminded himself…it was his. He had tried to get her comfortable at his side and failed miserably.

His eyes followed her as she came closer and closer, and he found himself for a moment wishing that the corridor below could somehow be infinite, so he would be free to watch her forever. It was a selfish wish, and he dismissed it almost as soon as it entered his mind. He tried to remind himself that he'd had his chance, but that didn't extinguish the sudden desire to approach her and at least try to find some words that could express how sorry he felt about how things had turned out between them. He did miss her…as much as a man like him could miss someone. He missed the nights in the penthouse when she almost made him forget that he should have been out in the darkness, trying to save a city that was forever balancing on the edge of hopelessness. He missed the sound of her voice on the nights when she showed up at the penthouse in her pajamas, with enough popcorn to feed an army and movies that were mostly so generic that they both lost interest after five minutes or less and instead ended up talking for hours. She usually talked more than he did, but he enjoyed the sound of her voice, and how she would sometimes fall asleep in his arms.

In the moments that followed he couldn't quite decide what it was that tipped the scale and made him call out her name, but he did, and she turned instinctively towards the sound. As he approached her a few seconds later he could see a look of surprise on her face coupled with a smile he hadn't expected. When she spoke his name in response it quickly turned into a question, like she couldn't believe who was standing in front of her.

"Bruce…?"

"Hi."

"…Hi."

There was silence, but their eyes met and he was surprised to find that up close he could find no malice in her eyes. There was a kind, yet expectant look in them, perhaps even slightly curious about what he was going to say next. That was a problem though, because he really didn't know what to say.

"Connie – I'm…"

He desperately wanted to find words that could somehow explain and make things right, but if there were such words in any language he was familiar with they all alluded him at that moment. Connie, to her credit, waited patiently with the same look of gentle curiosity in her eyes, until the two of them were interrupted in their common silence by a woman stepping out of a meeting room further down the hall and heading straight for Connie. The woman stopped a few paces away and said;

"Miss Tate?"

Connie rolled her eyes at Bruce when she heard the question. He smiled slightly, and remembered how irritating she thought it was when people referred to her like that. It had been a constant source of friendly bickering between her and Alfred, who insisted on using proper forms when addressing any guest of his master, even when said guest was in her pajamas.

"Yeah?" Connie replied, turning her face away from him and looking at the other woman.

"They're ready for you."

Connie nodded, and replied;

"Thank you, I'll be right there."

As she turned back to face him she smiled apologetically and said softly;

"I… I have to go."

He nodded to show that he understood, and Connie gave him another apologetic smile before hesitantly turning away from him and picking up her pace down the corridor again. He could only watch her go.

Damn. His first thought was that he had failed…again, but when he tried to go back and analyze, distance himself as so many of his teachers had imprinted in him the importance of, he wondered if he had really wanted to succeed in the first place. Hadn't a part of him thought from the very beginning that pursuing a relationship with Connie was a bad idea, only to be disengaged by the part of him that fantasized that this woman might be his ticket to a semi-normal life? The answer to that question was 'yes', and it was that same part of him that now insisted he push aside whatever remorse and sadness he had for what had happened, because it was surely for the best. Connie Tate had proven more than once already that she had a talent for attracting trouble, and that she was more than capable of doing so without any help from him. The two of them together could be very dangerous indeed.

But they were good… they had been good together, hadn't they? She was in many ways his polar opposite, and definitely not the kind of person he had imagined he would, or could fall in love with. But then again, he really hadn't imagined to ever fall in love with anyone, well maybe except Rachel, somewhere in his dreams.

He was jerked violently back to reality by the sound of someone clearing their throat. He spun around and saw Lucius coming up behind him.

"Admiring the talent, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce shrugged, and replied;

"You could say that."

"I have something that might make you admire that particular talent even more." Lucius said, his voice slightly tinged with secrecy.

"Is that why you called me?" Bruce asked, although he really knew the answer.

Lucius nodded, and gestured towards the stairs that lead back up to his office.

"Why don't we take the rest of this conversation in my office?"

Bruce nodded in agreement and quickly followed as Lucius began scaling the steps. Neither one of them spoke another word until there was a firmly shut door, a long elevator ride and several floors between them and the rest of Wayne Enterprises.

"I think you'll like this," Lucius started, as they made their way through the large area that had once housed the old Applied Sciences division, but was now officially closed off because it was considered obsolete, especially since construction had finished on the new Research and Development facilities.

"Connie was lead on it. She had help from a couple of other people on her crew, but the idea was hers and she saw it through from start to finish. If I didn't know better, I'd say she had made it specifically for you…"

"What makes you say that?"

Lucius shrugged, but there was a slight, secretive smile on his face when he answered;

"I figure this might come in handy if you're planning on chasing ghosts."

Lucius smiled at the blank, yet surprised expression on Bruce's face and said;

"The papers are already claiming there is an assassin in town, Mr. Wayne. And you've never settled for their claims and half truths before...unlike the rest of Gotham."

Bruce nodded in a manner as if to say 'fair enough', and halted next to Lucius as the latter stopped in front of a high table made of brushed steel. On the table laid an innocent looking black case that could contain anything smaller than an average sized book, and on the other side of the table, facing them were several rows of drawers built into a shelf, not unlike a section of safe deposit boxes.

Lucius unhooked the clasps that kept the lid of the box in place, and Bruce lent in eagerly to get a look at the contents. He was surprised to feel slightly disappointed at first glance. The contents of the box looked like one of the newer cell phones or PDAs on the market, and Bruce found himself wondering just how this was going to help him track down Deadshot, but soon pushed his doubts aside. If anyone was aware of the array of gadgetry he relied on already, it was Lucius, so despite its common appearance this had to be different somehow.

"Mind if I borrow your wallet, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce turned to face Lucius, for a moment stunned and utterly surprised by the request. Lucius smiled at the reaction, and added;

"It's for scientific purposes," as if that was explanation more than good enough.

"I've heard that before," Bruce replied, still surprised but steadily becoming more amused, before he continued;

"That specific science experiment ended with me having to go out and by a new watch."

Not unexpectedly, the mention of the experiment made Lucius smile, before he replied with confidence;

"I can assure you that your wallet will survive, Mr. Wayne."

"I'll take your word for it, then." Bruce replied, while he slid one hand into the left inner pocket of his suit jacket and fished out a slim, black leather wallet. He handed it to Lucius, curious to see what he planned on doing with it.

"Now close your eyes." Lucius demanded.

Bruce obliged, this time without argument. He knew how useful Lucius' demonstrations could be.

"How do I know you're not just going to run off with my money?" Bruce asked jokingly as he heard Lucius rummage around. He heard Lucius chuckle, combined with the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor and a drawer being opened, then shut. After another moment he heard the older man's familiar drawl say;

"You can open your eyes now, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce once again did as he was told, and saw Lucius standing across the table, his hands held out in front of him to show that they were empty.

"Now, where did my wallet go?" Bruce asked with mock surprise. He knew that he would find the answer to that question soon enough.

Lucius grinned at the question, and took the PDA-like screen from the box, turning it on before handing it to Bruce.

"You tell me."

Bruce was immediately interested. He flipped the device in his hand so that the screen faced him, and carefully began manipulating a few of the button. He saw almost immediately that this was some kind of tracking system, but at the same time it was more sophisticated and more accurate than what he had seen before. The interface was manipulated by touch screen, and despite its complexity it was intuitive enough that Bruce managed to locate the signal without difficulty.

His wallet, it turned out, was located in the drawer that was eight from left on the third row of shelves from the top. When he found it he held it up to Lucius, who nodded in approval, before making his way back to the assembly table where Lucius was standing. He put the control unit down on the table, and started rummaging through his wallet to find the actual tracking device. Finding it turned out to be a challenge, and as he searched he grew more and more impressed with Connie and whoever else had helped her with her idea. In his experience, tracking devices were difficult to place, and even more difficult to conceal, because the people you really _needed_ to track, the dangerous ones, they knew how to search for the devices, and more often than not they found them. There were other ways to keep track of a person, of course, but those required much more of him in terms of time and effort. If this device passed his testing, it could be a very useful tool.

Finally, after a good three minutes of searching he finally found the transmitter, cleverly hidden between two hundred dollar bills. At first it appeared to be nothing more than a thin, durable piece of plastic, but on closer inspection he could see the mechanics broadcasting the signal weaved into the plastic strip.

He smiled, almost despite himself. After a little familiarization he could almost surely put the device to good use, and there was a great satisfaction in that knowledge. He was ready to begin his search for the ghost that was Floyd Lawton, and hopefully tracking down that ghost would bring him one step closer to discovering who was pulling the strings.


	7. How You Remind Me

**Disclaimer:** As always, all characters, apart from the original characters created by me, belong to DC Comics. No profit is being made from the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is in any way intended.  
**Author's Note:**I know this is getting old, but I am so, so incredibly sorry for keeping you waiting on this chapter. Once again, I'm blaming school. My exams were horrible this semester, and for a long while I didn't have the opportunity or inclination to write. Again, I apologise.  
You'll also notice two mentions of real life rock bands in this chapter; Poets of the Fall, a band from Finland, and Nickelback, from Canada. This particular chapter takes its title from a Nickelback song, again no copyright infringement intended.  
Again, a big thank you goes to Mia, for keeping after me to finish the chapter and for betaing it once I did. And also a big thank you to all my readers, your reviews are deeply appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

He had been dead for at least 24 hours before his body was discovered. The Batman heard the Medical Examiner give the ballpark T.O.D to the young officer named Georgina Reed. He then watched as the auburn-haired young woman nodded, before throwing a sad glance at the body and turning away to share the information with her partner.

His eyes turned back to the body. A man in his mid-forties, who was now in the process of being encased in black plastic to ease the transportation to the Medical Examiner's Office. While this happened, one of the technicians from the Crime Scene Unit was just finishing labeling a sealed evidence bag, containing a playing card with the value four of spades. Everything was about the scene was becoming strangely, disturbingly familiar, and yet something was different now. The crime itself was the same, the seemingly meaningless death of a random citizen, this time a small time criminal, but still something was different, the Batman thought.

_I know him_. The lifeless face that had disappeared behind a sheet of black plastic moments before was familiar to him. That was new, and alarming in his mind, because it showed what could be the faint outline of a motive behind the crimes which up until now had seemed aimless and unreasoned. A part of his mind argued that it could still be a coincidence; there was no connection between him and the first two victims after all, but that knowledge was not enough to erase his suspicions. After everything he had experienced and witnessed on the streets of Gotham he had great difficulty believing in coincidence, and now there was a cautious voice in his mind that whispered of the 'what if's. What if this murdering psychopath was only just getting started?

He turned his gaze back to the street below in an effort to focus his efforts on what was right in front of him, at least for the time being. While he watched the scene from above, and waited for the police and crime scene unit to move their investigations elsewhere, he went through what he knew about the victim.

His name was Mark Ryder, and he was one of those people who, while continuously finding himself on the wrong side of the law, still managed to charm you into believing that he could change if he wanted to. Of course he never did, which was why he was well known both among the ranks of law enforcement and among those who, for various reasons, found themselves on the opposite side of right and wrong. Remarkable as it may seem considering how long Mark Ryder had been in and out of the various holding cells in the precincts around the city, he had never progressed to violent crimes. He had a couple of counts of small scale fraud to his name, as well as some breaking and entering and quite a few car thefts, but he had never, to the Batman's knowledge, committed any crime that validated being killed in such a fashion.

The Batman could think of only one reason why Ryder would be chosen for such a demise – the man had been one of his informants. So if the killer did have a plan, did that mean the murder of Mark Ryder was the first step towards getting to him? In that case, what did that make the other two victims? Collateral damage? Or perhaps a way of getting his attention? There was a problem with the theory, however. Floyd Lawton usually didn't have an agenda, at least not one that was his own. He simply did what his clients paid him to do. So if this was a setup, it meant that someone else knew much more about him than he felt comfortable with. To his knowledge, no one had discovered that Mark Ryder reported to him, and if someone had confronted Ryder with some of their suspicions, he had always cleverly lied his way out. He was a con man, after all…

Batman's list of enemies grew longer by the day, that was no secret, but the list of which ones could afford to hire Floyd Lawton to play a cat and mouse game with him was considerably shorter. Ronald Marshall was out, as opposed to his partner in crime he was still locked up, with every comfort his money could buy him of course, but still behind bars. So, who else was there?

* * *

Connie was cooking dinner when her home phone rang. She picked it up, pressed the 'answer' button and held it in place against her ear using her shoulder, while she continued to chop a red bell pepper with her free hands.

"Hey, hon!" A cheerful voice said, before she could utter as much as a 'hello'.

"Oh, hey Mia," Connie responded, while lifting the cutting board from the counter and dumping the cut bell peppers into the frying pan with the already cooking meat. After setting down the cutting board she straightened and took the phone with her right hand, asking into the receiver;

"What's up?"

"There's this band, they're called Poets of the Fall…they're playing at Paradise City tonight, and I thought I'd give you a great excuse to leave that boring corporate genius you're currently masquerading as at home and go out and get wild like you used to…"

Connie chuckled, stirring the pan with one hand while she still held the phone with the other.

" 'Corporate genius' was laying it on a little thick, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say…the point I was trying to make was that I want to glimpse the crazy college girl I met for the first time in a ditch in Massachusetts again. I'm beginning to realize that all of my friends are growing up, and I don't like it…"

"First off, it wasn't exactly a ditch, second; you're growing up too, Mia, even if you don't want to admit it. How else would the rock rebel who once got escorted out of a Nickelback concert because she jumped onstage and tried to French kiss Chad Kroeger end up an educated silversmith with a store that caters to the desperate housewives of the Gotham Palisades?

"One; I didn't just _try_to French kiss Chad Kroeger, I _did_ French kiss him and it was _good_. Two; most of my customers aren't desperate, you should know – you have more of my pieces in your jewelry box than anyone, and three; this is completely beside the point I was trying to make! Are you coming out with the rest of the gang tonight or not?!?

Connie chuckled, and replied;

"Yeah…I'm coming. Just let me eat first, okay?"

There was the sound of a delighted squeal on the other end of the line, and Connie grinned as she pictured the thrilled expression on Mia's face.

"The show starts at nine, but I'm going to be there earlier, and I know that some other people we know probably will too, so…"

"Yeah, alright… Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"Yes! Can't wait!"

A few minutes later Connie found that her plans to stay in that evening and place herself in a near vegetative state in front of the TV had changed dramatically. Instead she was now having her dinner in front of her wardrobe, trying to multitask and do two things at the same time; have dinner, and figure out what to wear to the concert.

She had been hesitant at first, but now she became more and more convinced of how good it would be to go out and not have to think about work. She hadn't thought about it until then, but it really had been ages. Thinking back she concluded that she hadn't been out to a club with her friends since before the whole thing with the Riddler. She had spent Christmas, New Years and a portion of January admitted to Wayne Medical, then there was her testimony at Edward Nashton's trial, and after that she had been forced to concentrate on work and other aspects of her life just to get back in the game.

She set down her plate and stepped towards her closet. For once she slid open the door to the shelf section with stacks of casual jeans, t-shirts and sweaters, and not the section that contained the more appropriate work attires and the evening gowns she would sometimes have to wear for work parties and the like. She pulled out a grey t-shirt with a rose design printed on the front and her favorite pair of jeans, which were worn and torn in all the right places.

Never in her life had she thought that she would actually feel relieved to put on regular clothes, but as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror twenty minutes later doing her makeup she felt inexplicably more relaxed. The expectations associated with going to a concert made her feel relaxed in a way that work and the occasional representation needed could not, as much as she loved it. That, and she was fairly certain that she wouldn't run into Bruce Wayne at a rock concert. Somehow that didn't quite seem like his cup of tea – he was probably uptown at some swanky nightclub, a model or actress or whatever on each arm. Business as usual.

Without really meaning to she studied her facial features in the mirror, and without wanting to she remembered how he had caressed them. The fact that she sometimes still thought about him had begun to bother her. Not so much the thoughts themselves, but the underlying fact that she couldn't seem to let him go completely, even though it was evident that she should.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and turned away, trying to shake the sudden feeling of doubt that had followed the thoughts surrounding Bruce Wayne. She was better off without him. Yes, she would undoubtedly be better off without him.

* * *

Paradise City was a well known club on the local rock scene in Gotham, located in a disused steel mill not far from the dock area on the banks of the Liberty River. Inside it was warm, the kind of warmth produced when many people are together in a room, and a slight smell of sweat and cigarettes that seemed to be embedded in the walls could be detected if you were observant. The light was scarce, but the music was loud – just the way it was supposed to be.

Connie walked through the door about half an hour before the concert was due to start, and most of her gang of friends, including Mia and Elizabeth, were already there. In addition to those two, there was Angela, a musician and ex-roommate of Connie's when she had first come back to the city, and Luther, an artist and Angela's current significant other. Also a part of the group for the evening was Alex, a stockbroker and a friend of Mia's, and Eddie, whom Angela knew from way back. All of them welcomed her with open arms, but Eddie seemed to be particularly intrigued when they were introduced. He quickly offered to buy her a drink, an offer she accepted, smiling. As it turned out, Eddie was a Homicide Detective with the Gotham Police Department, and he appeared instantly relaxed and likable. He was good looking too, tall and lean, yet broad shouldered, with dark, short cropped hair, and brilliant blue eyes, so Connie quickly found that the attention he was directing her way wasn't really unwelcome. It was distraction from a certain other man she had been thinking a lot about lately, and a good time, if nothing else.

The concert kicked off to enormous cheers from the gathered crowd, and the Poets of the Fall did not disappoint their audience. With a mix of old school rock that had the crowd jumping and singing along, and slower tunes where the dance was a more mellow swaying back and forth to the rhythm.

Afterwards, everyone, including Connie, agreed that it had been a great show. They were walking along the outskirts of the Gotham docks, discussing whether to end their night or take the party somewhere else. The mood was easy…fun, and Connie had thoroughly enjoyed herself. It felt good to be normal again, and go out with her friends without worrying about riddles and traps, and to feel equal to the people she was with, and not feel out of place, or like she had secrets to keep.

She was saying something to Angela, who was walking beside her, when she noticed an arm casually wrapping around her shoulders. Turning her head she saw that the arm belonged to Eddie, who had come up beside her. He met her gaze and smiled a pleasant, albeit slightly drunken smile. Connie didn't quite know how to react at first, but the gesture didn't feel uncomfortable in any way, and his grip was loose, loose enough that she could break free at any moment if she wanted to, so in the end she gave him a cautious smile in return.

Suddenly the sound of fast approaching running footsteps cut off the ongoing conversation, and Connie turned to see what was going on when she heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. She felt her body being pushed aside by a strong hand, and stumbled forwards. Before she could regain her balance she had fallen onto her knees, but she quickly jumped up and bolted towards the relative safety of some of the containers stored in the dock area. The sound of gunshots was becoming more and more frequent, and now it was accompanied by angry shouts and curses.

Fuck, Connie thought, crouching behind a shipping container. Gang shootout. From what she could decipher from the angry voices this was about drugs. That figured. This was just her luck. Slowly she edged her way closer to one of the sides of the container, to see if she could make out anything more of what was going on, if she could risk moving to someplace more secluded, and if she could see where her friends had run to. A sudden chill ran through her body as she thought about them.

_Please, God, let them be okay._

She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, and strained her ears to keep up with what was happening. The shots seemed fewer in number now, and the sound of them had grown fainter. Carefully she stood up; her back still pressed up against the cool metal of the container, and slowly turned her head so that she could get a glimpse of space on one side of the container. It was empty, and that calmed her a little bit. At least no nameless gang member stood waiting to end her life right then and there.

Again she listened for the sound of shouts and gunshots, but now she couldn't hear anything except the sound of her own heartbeat and the blood rushing through her body. She took one step, just long enough for her to round the corner of the dumpster before freezing again, her entire body still on edge because of the adrenaline. A heartbeat later she dared to take another breath, and then a moment later another. She stood in exactly the same spot for several more minutes until her heart rate had decreased back to near-normal, and she felt comfortable trying to find her way home.

She glanced around in an effort to find the general direction she would have to go to get home. Across the bay she saw Wayne Tower rise in the distance. For a moment she watched the city in the distance, before turning and walking carefully in the direction of more central parts of the city, where there would hopefully be a subway that would take her back to the safety of her apartment. As she walked between the containers she realized that her pulse was surprisingly near normal, considering what had just happened. She shrugged to herself and thought that maybe it was a side effect of being a Gotham resident. Things like this still happened with alarming regularity, despite the efforts of the police, the District Attorney…and the Batman. The people of Gotham were becoming quite adept at running for cover and keeping their heads down, and apparently that included her.

Some minutes later she was on the outskirts of the industrial area surrounding the harbor and the docks, and the buildings surrounding her were gradually becoming a more familiar part of the landscape. The towering structures made up of shipping containers were replaced by not-so-towering warehouses, and she took that as a sign that she was going in the right direction.

Her heart rate had almost gone back to normal, and she started to become more aware of her surroundings. Admittedly, they weren't much to look at, but she still felt relieved that she was still there to see them. Her eyes moved between the old bricks and broken and boarded up windows. It definitely wasn't the best part of town to walk around in after dark, but after just surviving a shootout, walking didn't worry her so much. She had her knife in her belt as usual, and it wasn't that long since she had been able to start training again – a couple of days earlier she and Nate, another friend and frequent sparring partner, had fought tooth and nail in a long kickboxing session at the gym. She had woken up with some light bruising the next day, but despite that pain it felt good to be able to work out again. She felt stronger, more confident when she could work off whatever left over frustrations she had in the ring.

Her eyes were wandering along the side wall of a warehouse when she suddenly saw something that made her stop. At first she had no idea why, but then it jumped out at her, just as clearly as it had the night she had seen Batman again.

Crudely carved into the half rotten wooden window frame of the building she was just passing was a flower, and it looked eerily similar to the one she had first seen in Mystery Woman's tattoo at the Wayne Manor party, and then drawn in her notebook the same night she had crossed paths with the Batman.

Suddenly weary, she took a step closer in order to examine it, and when she got a closer look she was certain. She tried to get a glimpse into the warehouse through a nearby window, but the window was covered in such a thick layer of dirt and grime that any view of what was on the other side of it was impossible.

She hesitated, very aware that her mind was pulling her in two different directions. The sensible thing to do would of course be to walk away, wipe all trace of the mysterious flower and the mysterious woman from her brain, get home, move on with her life and forget all about it. But on the flip side, Connie hadn't exactly proven herself to be particularly sensible when her curiosity was awoken, a fact she had become all too aware of after her various encounters with The Riddler.

Before she could make a decision one way or the other her cell phone rang, and she jumped in surprise. Clumsily she pulled the phone out of one pocket, flipped it open and held it to her ear.

"Yeah?"

"Connie! Oh my God, I'm so glad to hear your voice! Are you okay?!?"

The words came in a rush immediately after Connie spoke into the receiver. After an initial moment of confusion, she realized that the voice belonged to a somewhat hysteric Elizabeth.

"Hey… Yeah, I'm- I'm okay."

"Thank God, we were so worried about you. I don't know how this happened, one moment you were right there, and the next we were all running for cover and you were gone!"

Connie took a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice calm. It was apparent that Elizabeth was still more shook up than she was.

"It's okay, Liz. It's survival instincts, that's all…"

After a pause, Connie added;

"I'm…I'm just gonna head home now, alright? Yeah, I promise I'll give you a call when I get there…"

Her eyes wandered to the wood carving on the wall in front of her, and fixed on it as she talked, and a moment later Connie hung up the phone suspecting she had just lied to one of her best friends. For what, she wasn't sure, but she was fairly sure that she wouldn't head home just yet.

She knew it was stupid, and that it could be dangerous, but the warehouse seemed abandoned, and just getting a peek inside would satisfy her curiosity, instead of walking away and spending the rest of the night wondering about that damn flower. At least this was how she justified her actions in her mind as she started looking around for a suitable peephole.

Soon realizing that she would have to move around the building to find one, Connie carefully made her way into a narrow alleyway. A sudden gust of a chilling wind swept towards her, and the smell of rotting wood and seawater hit her nostrils.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she turned back towards the glow of the streetlights on the street she had just left, thinking about turning back. If she wanted to be smart she would do that, find the quickest route home, lock her door and hope to be safe from the battlefield that was the city at night.

A moment later she turned back to face the darkness of the alley, and she knew she wouldn't. Why? Because the triumphant gaze in that woman's eyes when she had turned to face her, the arrogant smile tugging on her lips…both awoke a smoldering anger in Connie that she hadn't felt in years. It wasn't because of Bruce…not really. He could make his own choices, after all, and that he hadn't chosen her was something she would have to live with.

It was the attitude. The notion that this woman had managed to convey so clearly without uttering a single word; don't even bother, I'm clearly better than you, that caused Connie's anger to flare when she thought about it. And because of this she couldn't let it go, not without some sort of answer, even if she wasn't entirely sure what the question was supposed to be.

The alley was narrow, but still littered with all kinds of garbage, including a bunch of broken and partially smashed crates and boxes. But the walls on both sides were solid concrete, with nothing that could facilitate any kind of entry unless you were privy to using high grade explosives. Although Connie could easily gain access to some through her work, that was hardly the way to go about this. Since her current effort would probably end up getting her nowhere, it would be more than useless to incur a criminal charge for destruction of property. There had to be another way.

She surveyed her surroundings again, just as a ghostly blue light from one of the searchlights of Gotham Harbor swept over the area and revealed that there was apparently some kind of opening in the sloped roof of the warehouse. Connie could see some of the light shining through it when it hit the building at a different angle.

_Looks like I'll have some climbing to do_, Connie thought to herself. She halted for a moment, considering once again if this endeavor was really worth the effort she would need to put into it. And once again she decided that ultimately it was, and started searching for boxes and crates that were still sturdy enough to support her weight.

Finding them was easier said than done, but after a while of searching through the rubble she found enough that she managed to execute a form of run, jump and grab that allowed her, with some effort, to pull herself up on the slippery, tiled roof.

She crawled sideways until she reached what she had at first believed to be a skylight of sorts, but that now turned out to be a hatch without a cover. She was relieved that she wouldn't have to break anything to enter, even if it was very unlikely that someone would ever notice, she glanced down into the darkness below.

Perching herself closer she tuned into her surroundings, watched as the searchlight from the harbor swept over buildings in the distance and breathed in deeply to try and distinguish a smell that could tell her what the warehouse had once contained. But any trace of the past was gone, and all she could detect was the coarse smell of salt and oil from the harbor.

Her eyes followed the searchlight intently. She knew that it would be pure stupidity to jump down in complete darkness, and that if she was going to take the risk of jumping at all; she would have to wait until the searchlight came back and shone a bleak light on the room below her.

It would be a split second decision, she thought, as she watched and waited for the light to return. She still had the chance to turn back… But she was far too curious now to even seriously consider that. For a brief moment she wondered what it would really take for her to back down, if there was anything she could see down there that would spook her enough not to keep going. A forest of knives, probably, or something equally disturbing. The thought reminded her of Edward Nashton, and she shook it off by looking up at the light again. It was almost full circle now, and she looked down, not wanting to miss the brief illumination of the space below that the searchlight would give her. From out of the corner of her eye she could see the beam of light approaching, and she started to count down in her mind.

3-2-1…

A pause, a brief moment of hesitation before she pushed herself forward just enough to fall through the hatch. A split second of suspension before gravity took over, and she landed on hard, unforgiving concrete. Even though she had used her hands to break the fall, the landing made her topple over, and she remained sprawled out on the floor for a moment before her brain managed to signal her limbs to get back on her feet.

She stood there in the darkness, breathing, straining to hear any noise that could tell her more about her surroundings. A cushioned flutter and a thud that came from the rafters above caught her attention, but when she looked up she couldn't make out anything. She shrugged it off.

_It could have been anything_.

Her eyes had gotten accustomed to the dark now, and she could make out large stacks of what were probably disused crates of some description all around the room like some kind of weird obstacle course. She was about to delve a little deeper into the contents of the building when her ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps and voices coming closer. She cursed intently under her breath and instead of exploring, headed for cover. The last thing she wanted was to be seen.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Connie, she had already been discovered, but not by whom she feared. The Batman had been doing his usual rounds through the city when he had picked up word of trouble near the docks on the police band. By the time he had gotten there, the gunfire had subsided, and the police were rounding up the small-timers they could get their hands on. The bigger fish had disappeared long before any kind of law enforcement arrived.

He had been about to continue on his rounds to see if he could track down some of the middle-men he suspected to be involved, but then his eyes had found Connie, unexpectedly crouching on a nearby roof, and with that observation his plans had changed. As he watched her disappear through a hole in the roof of an abandoned warehouse, he couldn't help but think;

_What on earth is the woman up to now?!_

When he threw himself into a dive and followed her, he hoped, against his better judgment that she hadn't found more trouble.

She had, as they both soon discovered with the entrance of a small group of individuals who did not seem to have wandered in aimlessly at all. In fact, from behind a stack of crates, Connie got the impression that they were supposed to be meeting there. And it was pretty much a given in Gotham City that whoever was meeting in an abandoned warehouse after dark was meeting with intentions that didn't look good in daylight.

Connie strained her eyes to get a better look. From what she could make out, the small group consisted of two women and two men. To add any details to those descriptions was difficult due to the lack of light, but Connie didn't really care. There was clear danger in the air now; not the fleeting insecurity you feel when you wonder if you've made the right decision, but danger…the kind of feeling that makes your instincts search for the fastest way out.

There was something in the air surrounding the small group of people she had discovered that made her think about the dark haired woman from Wayne Manor. These people bore the same kind of underlying danger as if it were a crown of glory.

When she saw the weapons she was absolutely certain of the trouble in front of her. Well, she didn't actually see them; in the dark it was difficult to see anything. But she didn't have to see to know. Another feature of a Gotham native was that most of them could distinguish if or when someone was carrying a weapon, even in the dark. It had become an increasingly needed feature to secure one's own survival, and most were becoming more and more aware that every day they moved among people who could turn around and kill them, either for some kind of profit or out of desperation. Regardless of reasons, if you wanted to stay alive you needed to be alert.

It was some of this alertness that made Connie move to turn around and investigate a fleeting sound coming from behind her, despite her wish to keep her eyes on what was happening on the other side of the room. The next thing she knew she was pinned into a vice grip so strong that it didn't feel human. What little resistance she could put up was quickly squashed to the point where she couldn't breathe, and before she could scream for help out of pure instinct a large, gloved hand covered her mouth and held firm.

The glove tipped her off initially. She didn't know many attackers who wore shock-proof, radiation resistant, specially reinforced gloves that were probably a prototype stolen from some company's Research and Development facilities. It had to be him. The Batman. The man she had almost begun to think of as a dark guardian angel of sorts. It shouldn't have surprised her, she thought. The man had an uncanny ability to discover her plans, even if she didn't share them with anyone. Hell, even now, when she didn't really have a plan at all, he showed up.

She tried to relax, hoping that if she did he would take it as a sign that she wouldn't scream or fight, or otherwise attract attention, and he'd loosen his grip and let her draw breath. He did, but he held on for a moment longer than he had needed to, as if to give her a silent warning.

Both of them froze as one of the men turned and looked in their direction, and the deep breath Connie had gratefully taken moments before suddenly felt as if it was glued to her lungs. A few seconds passed by that seemed to last forever, before the man turned back.

"What is it?" One of the women asked. Her voice was pleasantly calm, but it still contained an audible edge, a hoarseness that indicated that her voice would be very unpleasant if she was agitated.

"I thought I heard something." The man replied, turning back to face the others again.

There was a pause, before the other man addressed the woman.

"Forgive me, mistress, but I do not understand why we are here. The Lady was perfectly clear that she was to be the only one in our organization in Gotham…to avoid suspicion."

"I am…aware of The Lady's orders, Augustin. But I am not going to sit idle while she uses our entire organization for her private gain. I want to know what she's planning, and unless you've forgotten, I have that right… I'm not going to let her disregard the very foundations of our organization for a simple act of revenge. The organization is larger and far more important than that…she should have learned that lesson a long time ago."

Connie caught herself wondering if this 'lady' she heard mentioned was the woman from Wayne Manor, and if so, what kind of organization was she running? She knew it was farfetched, but she wouldn't put anything past a woman like that. And this was Gotham, after all…strange things were known to happen with alarming regularity. The one thing she did know was that it couldn't be good. The place they had selected to meet and the weapons they carried made that pretty clear.

She looked around to see if she could discern anything from the Batman's sparse facial features, but she was surprised to find him gone. Not believing he would have left after finding her in that situation she scanned the darkness for a sign of him…but she saw nothing.

Not until the moving shadow she had come to recognize as the Batman leapt from overhead down into the midst of the group of glorified gangsters. One of the men, the one referred to as Augustin, was the first one to draw his gun, but he was disarmed just as quickly as he could aim the weapon.

Then, to her horror, Connie saw the cold gleam of steel in a sudden flash of light from one of the windows, and although her brain tried to keep her from shouting a warning that would give her away, it came too late, just as the cautionary yell had left her lips.

For a brief second his eyes met hers, but in a flash he had spun around to confront the sword of the woman in charge. The first swing barely missed him, but the second he was able to stop, using the hook-like instruments on his gauntlets.

Connie breathed a sigh of relief, but quickly realized that her warning had made her into a viable target. The one she could now identify as Augustin had managed to get a hold of his weapon again, and the round he fired in her direction missed her by sheer luck. She ran blindly, trying to get away from the corner she had placed herself in to stay hidden. Augustin gave chase, but while he ran his aiming suffered, and she managed to avoid the rounds fired at her. She wasn't fast enough, however, and the larger man caught up with her, grabbing her in an effort to bring her down.

Oddly enough Connie didn't feel as helpless in close quarters as she had done running. When he grabbed her she quickly directed her elbow to impact on his face, halting him for a moment, giving her the chance to turn around and deliver a right cross to the same area. She delivered a kick to his right side before he could move to block, and wrestled the gun out of his hand, throwing it out through the window so he would have no means of regaining it while she was a potential target.

But in the void that followed her opponent had the chance to counter attack, and he took it without hesitation, pulling out a knife from inside his coat. Connie was quick to pull out her own to equal the match once again, but neither of the two got a chance to use their weapons, because now the Batman was there, and in a matter of seconds he had Augustin in a chokehold, effectively cutting off the blood flow to his brain and rendering him unconscious.

Connie looked around, and saw that the other three had suffered similar defeats, because all of them now lay sprawled on the concrete floor.

"I'm impressed." She said, a note of awe edging her voice.

"You should be thankful I didn't do the same to you." He retorted, in the gruff voice she had become strangely accustomed to.

"You wouldn't dare." She said conclusively.

"I am _sorely_ tempted." Came the quick reply, and the way he stressed the words made her think that maybe he really would render her unconscious and leave her there.

"You wouldn't…" She began, but her voice was less sure of the truth contained in those words now. She continued, a little stronger;

"You wouldn't leave me here… not with them."

"I thought that was what you wanted. To be left unprotected in a room with four people who could easily kill you."

"What are you talking about?!" Connie demanded, her insecurity being swiftly replaced with the usual straightforward demeanor.

"I don't ask for these things to happen to me! They just sort of…do, regardless of what I want! And while we're at it – I have never asked you to chaperone me, have I?!"

"You walk into situations unprepared, only guided by that damn curiosity you seem to possess in spades. If I hadn't been here you could have been killed!"

"You seem very sure of that for a man who didn't see a sword coming at his neck. The only reason I gave myself away was you, because I didn't want to see you bleed to death in a docklands warehouse!"

That silenced him, but only for a moment.

"You are in way over your head, Constance." He said, surprisingly calm.

Connie raised an eyebrow at the use of her given name, but didn't say anything.

"Go home. Forget about this. Whatever it was that made you come here…don't follow it. Not again…"

With those words he walked past her, and crouched by the unconscious body of Augustin. Connie saw him pull something from the folds of his cloak, something that he hid skillfully in the unconscious man's clothing. Then he pulled out something else, something that made Connie freeze for a moment in surprise and recognition. But again she held silent.

* * *

The steaming hot water from the shower head drenched her from head to toe as she stood still, her forehead resting against the white tile, trying to gather her thoughts. Strangely, what bothered her most wasn't the fact that she had wandered into a hornet's nest consisting of armed mobster, two of which had been carrying ancient-looking swords, although she did find that a bit mysterious. What bothered her most was the new device the Batman had been using. She was as certain as she could be that she recognized it, and not only that – she was certain that she had been the one to build it.

This begged the question of how the Batman had gotten his hands on it. He could have stolen it, but that was difficult to believe with the security surrounding the prototypes at Wayne Enterprises. She had no reason to doubt that the Batman was skilled and efficient at breaking and entering; after all he had snuck up on her without her noticing more than once. But still… It wasn't as if all the experimental gear was free for the taking if you only knew how to enter the building, there were some pretty hefty security measures in place on some of the stuff, including finger print and retinal scans. Her tracking device wasn't that closely guarded, obviously, because it wasn't considered much of a security risk. But you still had to know exactly where to find it, and she doubted the Batman had that kind of knowledge. So, if he hadn't stolen it, that meant that someone at Wayne Enterprises had acquired it for him.

The list of people who knew her work and what it would be used for wasn't a long one, and the name she immediately thought of was Lucius Fox. Not only because Fox was the man in charge, and as such had access to every piece of information regarding the company, but because Connie also suspected him of supplying Batman with gadgetry in the past. The word around the office was that the lawyer - Coleman Reese - had discovered the blueprints for Batman's vehicle amongst the archives of Applied Sciences and tried to use them for blackmail. Of course that didn't go over well, and the general consensus was that Reese was lucky to have kept his job. Connie didn't know how much of the story was true and how much was just office gossip, but she had no doubt whatsoever that Applied Sciences had contained everything you could possibly want for the sort of night time escapades that the Batman regularly engaged in. And Lucius was the man behind most of it

She made a mental note to call in a favor she had outstanding with one of the guys working security and pull some tapes to see if they would reveal if it was Lucius or someone else entirely that had retrieved her tracing device from storage. She would sacrifice a couple of hours of her own time for that kind of detective work, especially after what she had experienced earlier that night. Everywhere she looked there were far more questions than answers, and she felt as if she had unwittingly stumbled onto a pattern consisting of crisscrossing threads that she would have to sort through to see everything clearly. And Wayne Enterprises, with its lack of night time darkness and armed henchmen, seemed like a good place to start.


	8. Sweet Little Lies

**Disclaimer**: As usual, all recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics and Warner. The only ones belonging to me are Connie, her family, and some of her co-workers and friends.  
**Author's Note**: Also as usual, apologies for the time it's taken me to update. In my defense, this chapter grew to be almost twice the length I had envisioned when I started. I hope you'll forgive me (again) and enjoy. Thanks go to Mia, my beta. And just because I'm completely hopeless when it comes to updating, doesn't mean I don't want reviews. I do. Preferably lots of them, but I'll take whatever you want to give. Please review! I can't say it enough - reviews are such an encouragement for me.  
One more question for all of you reading this... I have a sort of "cast list" in my head for Smoke and Cloak, would you like to see it, or are you happy to imagine the characters for yourself?

* * *

He knew he shouldn't, but he had still followed Connie to her front door that night. Not to her knowledge, obviously, because although he worried about her he thought she deserved to be scared. Fear was the only way to combat the curiosity that led her into situations like tonight.

But her curiosity had again found a way to trigger his memory, and he couldn't help but think that once again she had been helpful, without really meaning to. The swords meant more to him than she could have imagined, and they were the link that solidified the fleeting suspicions he had sustained for some time… that the League of Shadows had returned, in some form, to Gotham.

It was close to two years since the League had last been involved in the criminal activities going on in the city, and the result had been near disastrous. You could still see the gaunt faces of some of the victims; those who had been subjected to Jonathan Crane's Scarecrow gas for just long enough for it to be irreversible. And then there were those who were now locked into one of the secure wards at Arkham, driven insane by their own worst fears and restrained twenty four hours a day because they were now considered far too dangerous to be let back into the normal world.

Then-leader of the League, Ra's al Ghul, had apparently perished the night the toxin was released. The Batman was as sure of it as he could be, having battled Ra's himself. But no body had been recovered, he reminded himself, and he had already thought Ra's to be dead once only to be proven wrong in all aspects. He could not afford to make a mistake like that again.

The new device led him to a townhouse in Old Gotham, a structure of red bricks and mortar that had, in all fairness, seen better days, but still carried some charm, as opposed to many other structures in the city.

Thin rays of light was shining through gaps in the heavy curtains, but they were drawn shut on all three floors, so nothing of what went on inside could be discerned from an outsiders point of view. But from his perch on the roof of the building across the street, the Batman heard plenty.

"Foolish girl!" A female voice spat furiously, and the voice was so present that it was as if the woman was standing right beside him.

The chilling sound of a blade being drawn could be heard, and then;

"My orders were _perfectly_ clear…you were not to enter the city until you had orders to do so…_if_ and _when_ you had orders to do so."

Another female voice responded to the first. Batman recognized it from earlier that night at the warehouse, but the dangerous whisper it was then had been replaced with a trembling, almost pleading tone.

"Forgive me, mistress… I remember your orders, and would have followed them, but it appeared that you set out to rectify our greatest failure in modern time yourself…and being your ever faithful servant I could not willingly stay behind while you worked so tirelessly to restore balance to the world."

A short, mocking laugh was the reaction, but it was soon followed by a reply more poisonous than the first accusation.

"Oh Whisper…do not think that I cannot see behind your mask. You serve me only to serve your own ambition…"

There was a pause, and Batman listened as the blade was pressed harder against someone's throat for some agonizing seconds.

"But that too has its purpose I suppose… You were discreet, I hope… No one knows you are here?"

He didn't need to see to notice the uncomfortable silence that lingered between the four people being interrogated, and he had no problem envisioning the gazes filled with uncertainty that doubtlessly accompanied it.

Hesitantly, and perhaps even more worried about her future than last time, the woman from the warehouse spoke again;

"I wish it was so, Mistress. Forgive me…"

The singing sound of metal through air, before it impacted with some kind of hardwood, probably cutting whatever it was clean through, before being swung around again. He could tell from the change in her breathing that it was probably again resting close to the woman's clavicle.

"You were _seen_?"

The voice was nothing more than a whisper now, but it was as if it dripped of poison with every syllable uttered.

"We _were_ extremely careful, Mistress… I don't understand how he could have found us…"

"Who?"

The voice was dangerously impatient now.

"This vigilante…the one who…_foiled_ our last attempt at restoring balance to this city. Batman, or whatever it is they call him…"

Sudden silence, and he could hear how the air seemed to be trapped in the lungs of the servant as she awaited her mistress' reaction.

"How did he find you?"

The question was simple, yet merciless.

"I don't know, Mistress. We were careful, as we were taught…but then he appeared out of the darkness. It was almost as if…"

"Yes?"

The servant hesitated for a moment before speaking, as if what she considered was too convenient to be true.

"As if this person had trained as we have… He fought much the same as we do, always adapting, but… he was stronger and more skilled than any of us, Mistress."

There was another pause, but this was not as tense as the last.

"Is that so?"

It was not really a question to those surrounding her, but more of a spoken thought. There was silence again for a minute or so, before she spoke again.

"You may leave now. Consider yourselves fortunate that your actions might have been useful…but if you disobey my orders again you will be _severely_ punished."

The sound of hurried footsteps filled his ears, then the sound of a door closing. A moment later he heard, to his surprise, that the woman remaining spoke to herself.

"So you discovered them… Just as well, it evens the field a bit. I daresay Mr. Lawton was getting bored… And you're still convinced that you can save this degenerate city, aren't you …Bruce? "

There was the sound of footsteps again, and the door opened and closed for a second time.

"I am." Said the Batman silently, although there was no one around to hear it.

* * *

On the way back to the cave he cursed himself and his ignorance several times over. He should have known, he should have known immediately.

Talia

The woman from the Wayne Manor party, the woman who had projected herself as his lover in front of the one woman he had actually considered that in a long time. And infinitely more concerning; the daughter of Ra's al Ghul, his nemesis from almost two years prior.

Her voice sounded so clear and distinct in his mind now that he berated himself for not realizing the connection before. He had encountered Talia once, when he had trained with the League of Shadows, and the woman had the ability to make an impression.

And now she had apparently hired Floyd Lawton in a bid to finish what her father had started. There was comfort in knowing who he was dealing with, but it was a small comfort when you knew firsthand what the League of Shadows were capable of and what kind of resources they had at their disposal.

The cave was quiet when he returned, only the distant sound of the waterfall was audible. He carefully removed his armor, checking sporadically for injuries sustained during the night in the process. There were none to speak of, only some bruising and a red streak on his neck where the sword had nicked him.

What he had discovered weighed on his mind the most. It explained so much, but somehow still managed to post even more questions. Like how on earth he was going to tackle Talia and the rest of the League…and whether or not Connie had now inadvertently managed to get herself caught up in something that could quickly prove to be even more dangerous than the Riddler. Connie herself had only one advantage; that Talia was so far unaware of who she was, and how she was connected to him. The problem was that he wasn't sure how long it would stay that way, especially with Connie being ignorant of the danger. And he wasn't sure how far he could go to protect her, without risking too much.

* * *

It wasn't often Connie exhibited a temper. She usually found it much more comfortable to try and be laidback and easy going, for her own sake as well as others. But that didn't apply when someone stole her inventions – even if that 'someone' was her boss.

This was the reason why she had walked straight into Lucius' office that afternoon, without caring much whether or not he was busy. His secretary had tried to stop her for about two seconds, until she saw the look in the other woman's eyes and wisely backed off silently.

Lucius looked up over the top of his glasses when he saw her enter. His voice carried the same pleasantness as always, and betrayed nothing of what he might or might not know in relation to her visit.

"Connie… What can I do for you today?"

"Well, you could stop stealing my inventions and giving them to a wanted criminal."

The reply was so swift, and so hard in tone compared to what he was used to hearing from Connie that Lucius immediately straightened and surveyed her more closely. In looks she was businesslike as usual, a crisp, white shirt tucked into a pair of loose-fitting, dark brown trousers made of some kind of coarse fabric, with a broad leather belt as the main accessory. Most of her hair was swept up in a casual bun, but the shorter strands framed her face, curling slightly at the ends, and her makeup was discreet.

Her eyes however, warned that this was not a good time to offer flighty white lies or explanations. He would have to tread gently, but the truth would still be too much information.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Connie…"

"Save it. You really think I'm such an airhead that I don't recognize my own inventions? You gave the Batman the prototype for that tracking device I came up with!"

"Look, Connie…"

"Don't!" She snapped back furiously.

"I'm not like that lawyer idiot; I'm not after a fatter paycheck. But I despise the fact that you'd jeopardize the reputation of this company to cater to him. Ever since I took this job we've been at the cutting edge when it comes to R&D, and I've done my bit to keep it that way. I've fought tooth and nail to get a hold of some of the people I have working for me, I've had sleepless nights worrying about industrial espionage…only to now realize that that's not what I have to worry about after all."

She finished breathlessly, her arms half outstretched in a gesture that demanded answers. The temper was still flaring in her eyes, but now there was also something challenging him to argue with her.

Lucius cocked his head to the side, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Then he straightened and met Connie's gaze, taking a deep breath before answering her.

"Look, Connie… I'm helping this man because I'm in a position where I have to care whether he lives or dies. You've gotten close enough to him to know that he's walking a very fine line. That's why I urge you to be careful… I don't want you to get hurt doing whatever it is that you're doing now…"

"I wish you'd stop making this about me… I can take care of myself. I didn't say anything before, about a vigilante running around in the city dressed as a bat with an array of Wayne Enterprises prototypes…because all of them were yours, and as far as I'm concerned you're free to use them in whatever way you want. But this…this was mine. And you took it without my permission."

He wanted to say something else, something to turn this back on her, because the fact that she had obviously crossed paths with the Batman again worried him. But he didn't get a chance, because she had already turned around and was about to walk away.

"Connie…"

She turned at the mention of her name.

"Be careful. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Her answer surprised him.

"Well, then either enlighten me…or get the hell out of my way."

Lucius watched Connie's back disappear out of his office and took a deep breath. The woman was a handful. Smart, strong, independent, talented and sometimes bordering on genius…but a handful.

He pressed a button on the intercom, and a pleasant-sounding female voice said;

"Yes, Mr. Fox?"

"Jessica, could you get Bruce Wayne on the phone for me, please? As soon as possible."

"Of course."

A few minutes later the phone rang, and the voice of Bruce Wayne sounded when he picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Fox…is there a problem?"

"In a matter of speaking… It's about Connie, and I thought you'd want to know…"

There was a pause and Lucius could hear that Bruce was moving from one place to another. The buzzing of voices that had been in the background lessened, and he heard a woman's voice begging "Brucie" not to leave. A door opened and shut, and Bruce's voice came again.

"What's the matter, is she alright?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine… pretty mad, but fine. I'm not the right one to criticize your course of action, Mr. Wayne, but using a prototype of Connie's own invention right in front of her…that wasn't what you'd call clever, was it?"

Bruce uttered a curse before he could think to stop himself. Surprised he heard Lucius chuckle in the receiver.

"Is something funny, Mr. Fox?"

"No, not at all… it's just refreshing to hear that it's still possible to throw you off just a fraction…"

Lucius heard an audible sigh on the line, and thought for a moment about how to proceed.

"Had a feeling you might need to be reminded… Connie's not stupid, and with that glitch…well, I think she's on to you…and I have a feeling she's not gonna back down easy. She's not that kind of girl. And the fact that she's pissed off at me for handing out her invention isn't going to help make her any less determined…"

Bruce thought about Connie and the fiery determination she could exhibit, and smiled, although he didn't have any reason to. The smile didn't linger long however, he was soon preoccupied with the thoughts surrounding what could happen if Connie really did start digging. Most likely she'd come upon dead end after dead end and give up – it wasn't as if he hadn't thought to cover his tracks… but then, this was Connie, and she could be more stubborn and hard headed than any other woman he knew.

He shook his head, as if that could help dispel the thoughts from his mind. He didn't have the time or the resources to worry about this now, Talia and her new, albeit temporary minion Deadshot took precedence. His primary objective had to be to find some way to get ahead, to put a stop to whatever plan Talia had up her sleeve.

* * *

That afternoon Connie Tate had a plan of her own. She had called in a favor she had standing with Scott Archer, one of the guys working building security that Connie had somehow managed to charm her first week on the job. He didn't think twice about letting her borrow a couple of security tapes, it was a common enough occurrence, especially if she was worried about some the details of an upcoming project leaking out. Scott Archer's only mistake was that he thought too highly of Connie to think that she would misuse his trust in order to get to her own, personal goals, and that he trusted her to find her way through the saved video files without actually checking that she'd selected the ones she said she was looking for.

Half an hour later Connie walked out of the offices of the security staff with three CDs containing security footage from the cameras in the front room of Lucius Fox's office. She did feel a bit guilty of taking advantage of her connections like this, but this was getting too personal to let it go. Had it been anything else, she probably would have let it slide, but she felt she had every right to be territorial about her inventions.

It wasn't so much that she thought what Lucius was doing was wrong – it was the fact that he had given away her creation without her consent that pissed her off more than anything. And then there was something he said.

"I have to care whether he lives or dies".

Lucius usually wasn't the sentimental type. Not cruel or unreasonable in any way, but not sentimental. This was probably why she found that to be an odd turn of phrase for him to use. And it begged the question; why? Why was this vigilante important to Lucius to such an extent that he'd take it upon himself to help him stay alive? And who was he?

She had a feeling that if she was going to get anywhere with her little investigation, she would have to start with the 'who'. That would undoubtedly be difficult enough, even if she had managed to narrow down the timeline to three days, from the time she had given Lucius the prototype to inspect to the night she had seen the Batman use it.

When she returned to her desk, Connie quickly put the CDs containing the security footage in her bag. This private investigation of hers would have to wait until she got home.

Later that night she settled into her office for the first time in months. It was one of the rooms in her apartment that hadn't seen a lot of use since she moved, and because of this it had now taken on the look of more of a storage room than an office.

A pity, Connie thought to herself, because she liked the space. It had been one of the deciding factors when she decided to purchase the apartment. It was a huge space for an office, but it was just as well, because it was dominated by a huge mahogany desk that looked like it could survive the Apocalypse, placed off to one side. The rest of the room looked like Indiana Jones' library with the added flavor of a high-tech computer lab. Connie had found herself forced to admit that ever since she had begun working for Wayne Enterprises, the array of gadgets that occupied her various shelves had grown completely out of proportion. But that was a worry for another day.

Right before she inserted the CD into the computer she felt a twinge of guilt. She had taken advantage of Scott's friendship, and for what? To get back at Lucius? And really, if that was the reason, how would watching security tapes help her do that?

She hesitated. She didn't _have _to do this, and considering she probably shouldn't, why was she still undecided? It was stupid really, she'd let her pride take over, leading her to do something that could complicate her life substantially if anyone asked questions. She should back down.

But then again, where was the fun in that? All this had an air of mystery about it, and she had to admit that her curiosity stirred.

If anyone of her friends or family had been in the vicinity they probably would have slapped her, tied her to the desk chair, crushed the CDs and taken away her computer, and Connie tried to remind herself of that, and of the frantic, desperate whispers that her mother and her brother had shared in the hospital when they thought she was asleep, but in vain. It didn't take her long to realize that she had settled this with herself the moment she decided to get a hold of the security footage. She needed to finish this…that it would probably lead her nowhere didn't matter.

Three hours worth of futile searching later, she began to regret her decision. Mostly all she saw was people walking in and out of Lucius' front room. She recognized most of them, and they all had legitimate reason to be there, no motive to ask Lucius for any kind of inventions, and probably no interest in what R&D was doing. The juiciest scene she had stumbled across was Jessica, Lucius' secretary being surprised by a man who was presumably her boyfriend, a surprised that led to passionate kissing before the two moved off-screen, probably in pursuit of even more passion.

Not what she had expected, but definitely not what she was looking for. Connie sighed, and contemplated calling it quits for the tenth time in just as many minutes. The dead end she had expected loomed overhead, and she leant back in her chair rubbing her eyes, leaving the tape running while she did so. For a while she sat with her eyes closed, just breathing, before she persuaded herself to stay focused until the end of the tape. If it turned up nothing, she would let it go.

The front office was the same, but the person now on her screen was instantly recognizable. Bruce Wayne. Okay, Connie thought to herself. There's nothing strange about that. He was the owner of Wayne Enterprises after all. It couldn't be him… No, the thought of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Prince, flying over rooftops playing vigilante was beyond stupid.

And yet… Lucius' words from earlier that day emerged from the back of her mind.

_I'm in a position where I have to care whether he lives or dies._

When you're the C.E.O of a company, the owner of said company dying would be a bad thing.

No, she decided again… the thought was silly.

She cocked her head slightly and studied the image as Bruce disappeared off-screen in the direction of Lucius' office. She conjured up an image of the Batman to her inner eye in an effort to convince herself that the two weren't the same, but doing that only raised more questions.

Connie realized that the two had a similar build; muscular without seeming too bulky. She remembered the Batman as being taller, but then again she had only seen him at night, and he could have a frightening presence that made him seem gigantic in stature. So, in reality the two could be about the same height.

Most of her brain still thought the idea was ridiculous, but she had managed to tip the scale enough that she typed Bruce Wayne's name into a search engine. During the few milliseconds it took the website to compile a list of finds, Connie realized that she had now made even more work for herself, in a quest that looked set to lead nowhere.

But looking through the various pages containing Bruce Wayne's name turned out to be somewhat more entertaining than looking through security tapes. She found a usable bio on a web-based encyclopedia, but other than that it was mostly gossip headlines of the outrageous variety. Most of those contained women and booze, both in significant quantities, along with numerous references to the fire that destroyed the original Wayne Manor.

She read the bio first. Granted, she had thought she knew Bruce, but that was before the incident at the party. Now she wasn't sure what to think anymore. And so she read on about ambitious, kind-hearted doctor Thomas Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune, and how he had met Martha Kane, another heiress and socialite with a bit of a Messiah complex going for her. She read about the flirtation that culminated in the most lavish wedding in recent Gotham history, and the arrival of the first-born son that cemented the image of wealth and perfection.

Connie finished reading a page and hesitated a moment before clicking her way to the next one, because she knew what was coming. The story of how Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed had circulated ever since their murders took place, and had become a part of the city's history, and no self-respecting native Gothamite was unaware of the deed or its aftereffects.

She read extracts from the obituaries and the accompanying article detailing how the eight year old Bruce Wayne had been orphaned and left in the care of the Wayne family's butler. Connie felt an inexplicable sadness as she read, because this part was the only in which she saw a clear parallel between Bruce's life and her own. Her story was not nearly as tragic, but still… Bruce had been what, eight or ten when he lost his parents? She was twelve when her father died…that was eighteen years ago now, and she still remembered it like it was yesterday. She had been standing on her toes, looking as far out of the kitchen window as she possibly could, looking to get the first glimpse of her father as he rounded the corner or his way home from work, when she heard the shots. Two in quick succession and then a third as if to make sure the job was done. And she knew, instantly…instinctively. It was as if something in the air changed, and the balance of her world shifted almost immediately. She remembered the hospital, the smell, the clock on the wall in the waiting room, the rhythm of hurried footsteps, and the doctor who came to see them, but who wouldn't speak to her mother or her brother in front of her.

The grief she had felt, and still felt, must have felt at least twice as bad for Bruce Wayne, who in a matter of minutes had been robbed of both parents. At least, Connie thought, she had had her mother left, and her mother had exhibited a strength that Connie didn't know was possible, and if it hadn't been for her Connie knew that she would never have coped as well as she had.

Her thoughts focused back on the article she was reading, which went on to detail Bruce Wayne growing up to be a very rich rebel without a cause. He had enrolled at most of the universities making up the Ivy League, but hadn't graduated from any of them, and the article seemed to agree with itself that Bruce Wayne's talents didn't lie in academics. Connie found herself agreeing too, although when the two of them had been alone together they had been able to have intelligent discussions on everything from politics to technology, and she couldn't in good conscience call him stupid. But he certainly seemed so careless of everything important whenever he was quoted in the tabloids that it seemed to be bordering on stupidity. So, was it one of Bruce Wayne's idiosyncrasies, or was it a sign that he was hiding something?

She read on about Joe Chill's release from prison in exchange for testimony, his subsequent death. Then came Bruce Wayne's mysterious disappearance, and all the speculation about where he'd gone. He was thought to be seen at every jet-set hotspot around the globe, but no reports seemed to be anything other than hearsay and speculation.

Connie paused. What did all this mean? Had Bruce Wayne disappeared off the face of the planet for seven years without anyone managing to dig up or guess where he was? Knowing the ferociousness of certain Gotham medias she found that almost too good to be true. Someone had to know…something, at least, about what Bruce Wayne had been up to when he went AWOL on the Gotham society.

Then there was the reason why. Why had Bruce Wayne disappeared? And why had he come back?

Connie felt that she was growing frustrated with the increasing amount of questions that formed around the articles she had been reading. In an effort to gather her thoughts into some kind of cohesive vision she wrote the questions down on a notepad lying nearby. She then surveyed the list with the skepticism of one who was used to doing research. There was something there…she was almost sure of it. She might just be skirting on the edge of whatever it was, but something, a gut instinct, told her that she was on to something.

With a newfound determination that she really had no idea where came from, she decided to start with the most tangible of the questions on the notepad. Where had Bruce Wayne disappeared to?

She knew that getting an answer out of the Gotham press, if indeed there was one to be found, would be tricky. The mix of reality and fiction in the myth surrounding Bruce Wayne was now so thick it was almost impenetrable. Connie glanced at the clock on her computer, it was getting late. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to stop and come back some other time. But she couldn't quit just yet… One more page, she told herself. One more web page of search results and she would call it a night.

Then, when she had searched through about two thirds of the page results without finding anything new, a headline caught her eye.

_Gotham playboy Bruce Wayne spotted in Bhutan_

At first Connie was sure she had misread something. Bhutan…that was a tiny country in Asia, and she was fairly certain that it wasn't a hotspot among the rich and famous, which made the article all the more interesting.

It turned out not to be a newspaper article, but instead an archived entry from a gossip blog. It was accompanied by a grainy black and white photo of what looked like a police raid judging from the uniforms. In the photo a group of people were surrounded, guns pointed at them. All of the men in the photo were Asian in appearance…all except one. Towards the center of the group of surrounded men stood a young man that was at least a foot taller than most of his partners in crime. His hair was dark, long and unkempt, like he hadn't washed or combed it in weeks, and most of his jaw line was covered with a beard. He was looking away from his captors, over the gathering crowd and sideways into the camera that had taken the picture, and Connie gasped when she realized that she was looking at a photo of Bruce Wayne, ten years younger.

And yet, no. That wasn't possible. It couldn't be Bruce Wayne. _Why_ would Bruce Wayne be in Bhutan, why would he let himself be treated like a common criminal? It didn't make sense. None of it did. But the more she looked at the picture, the more certain she became. There was something about the eyes…there was a sadness in them, similar to what she had sometimes seen in Bruce's eyes when he thought she wasn't paying attention to him. What she could make out of his facial features were similar too, the cheekbones, the nose, the lips… younger, but definitely like Bruce's.

She read the accompanying text;

_One of our devoted readers Lauren, who currently works with Doctors Without Borders in India,__ visited Bhutan earlier this week and witnessed the local police conduct a raid on a warehouse. When we first read Lauren's email here at the Gotham Grapevine, we didn't really understand why we should print this, but the photo our good friend Lauren had the sense to snap changed things. Are we seeing things here at the Grapevine, or is that a scruffy edition of Gotham golden boy Bruce Wayne there in the center? Did he trade the upper circles of Gotham society for a life of crime on the other side of the planet? Or are we perhaps not looking at Bruce Wayne, but a long lost brother? Feel free to air your theories in the comments, we here at the Grapevine are looking forward to hearing your opinions._

The readers of the Gotham Grapevine hadn't disappointed, the comments were many, but most seemed to discard the theory of Bruce Wayne living in anything other than luxury somewhere on the planet and instead elaborated on the 'long-lost brother' theory until it became so absurd that Connie couldn't help chuckle where she sat. She leant back in her chair, turned up the music that had been running in the background on her computer while she read, and stared for a long while at the picture, as if it would reveal the answer to one of her questions if she just kept looking at it.

* * *

The next day Connie remembered that she would soon have an opportunity to take another, closer look at Bruce Wayne. He was hosting a party at the Manor for various people who had invested a lot of money in Wayne Enterprises, and as the head of the Research and Development Department, she was expected to attend. She was fairly sure that seeing Bruce again wouldn't be a problem. They were both adults, after all…and it wasn't as if she planned to seek him out. No doubt he would have acquired at least one or two new pieces of arm candy for the occasion, and she saw no reason to disturb him in the pursuit of new conquests. No, she would focus on being nice to the investors, and try to have a good time with the people she knew.

The night of the party soon came, and Connie found herself walking into Wayne Manor feeling a lot more confident than she had the last time. It was easier now, when she could rely on herself, when she didn't have to worry about how she would look to the winner's circle of Gotham society.

She greeted Alfred kindly when he passed her, carrying a tray of drinks, and was a little surprised at just how genuinely pleased he seemed to see her. It was a welcome surprise. She had struck up a sort of friendship with him on the occasions when Bruce for some reason had kept her waiting at the penthouse, and she had soon discovered that behind the proper English exterior there was much more wit, knowledge and compassion than she could ever have guessed.

One surprise quickly followed another when the first one of the guests she bumped into turned out to be Andrea Walker, the first, and so far only, nice woman she had met among the socialites. At first Connie wasn't sure if Andrea would even remember her, but she was quickly proven wrong when the beautiful blonde let out a thrilled little scream and proceeded to pull her into a hug so fast that Connie had to take care not to spill anything of her drink.

"It's so good to see you again!" Andrea exclaimed just as she loosened her grip on Connie.

"Thanks…you too." Connie managed to reply, still a little taken aback, before she managed to shake it off and ask;

"So, what are you doing here? Are you here with Keith?"

Andrea shook her head, and hesitated a little before she answered.

"No…actually I'm here by invitation as one of the investors." She smiled carefully.

"That's great! And for two reasons, because then you're on my 'people to be nice to'-list…"

Andrea laughed happily at that, but then she turned serious again.

"Listen, Connie… I know that you don't want to talk about last time you were here, but I have to know what happened…"

Connie shrugged.

"Well, to tell you the truth your guess is as good as mine… I was talking to you, having a pretty good time, and then I turn around and I see Bruce with some other woman practically on his lap, making out…I quickly decided that I wasn't going to stand for that, so I left…"

"You should have told him off…" Andrea said, before continuing,

"But it doesn't really matter that you didn't, because I did it for you… I even made a bit of a scene telling him what an ass he was."

Now it was Connie's turn to laugh.

"Well, I'm glad he heard some sense," she continued jokingly.

After a few more minutes in the company of Andrea, Connie excused herself and continued to wander through the beautifully decorated rooms without any particular aim. There were people everywhere, and every now and then she saw someone she knew, or was introduced to someone who took an interest in her work. She enjoyed herself, although it did feel a bit strange to be walking alone through the same rooms as she had done arm-in-arm with Bruce weeks earlier.

There were different pieces of art and antiques displayed in every room, and most were exactly the kind of expensive, one-of-a-kind, but boring things you'd expect someone like Bruce Wayne to own. But then, in the corner of one of the living rooms, she saw something that appeared different. A sword rested comfortably in a display case of wood and glass. It was a simple sword, without the inlays and decorations that usually belonged to display swords. Connie thought that the design looked vaguely Asian, but she was no expert. What struck her as odd was how the sword appeared to be well used, the wrappings around the handle were frayed, the guard was chipped and marked like it had deflected several blows, and the blade, although visibly sharp, wasn't gleaming like new.

For a moment when she stood there, she let her mind wander, thinking about Bruce and the apparent inconsistencies between the man the public saw and the man she thought she had seen in glimpses. And it seemed an echo of her thoughts when she heard the familiar voice from behind her, saying her name.

He had noticed her when she first entered. Frankly he found it hard not to, there was something about her that seem to draw him in, and when he saw her on occasions like tonight, when she had dressed up to look her best, he had cause to stare.

He threw a backwards glance in the direction of his date for the evening, Tiffany something or other… Unlike Connie, she didn't seem to mind being a fish out of water, but that was more to do with the fact that she was ignorant of the unwritten codes of the social circles she had now walked into. She was trying to advance her career by using him, just as much as he was using her, but still. He was beginning to grow tired of having to put on a masquerade, and when his eyes now travelled from Tiffany and back to Connie the question "What was I thinking?" floated through his mind. Connie might not come from money or be accustomed to moving in his circles, but she had class, and that of a kind you couldn't buy. In visually comparing her with Tiffany he saw it clear as day. Tiffany wore some slinky little sequin number that was really too short for anything but a semi-darkened night club, while Connie…Connie wore a floor-length, sea-green dress with some kind of black see-through overlay embroidered with green glass pearls. Her jewelry was simple, silver and tones of green and blue, the same with her make-up, and the comb that appeared to hold her hair in place.

She turned to face him at the mention of her name, offered him a small smile and greeted him with the same sweet, yet sad voice that she had when they met in the hallways of Wayne Enterprises.

After the greeting there was an uncomfortable silence. It seemed neither of them was quite sure what to say to the other. Finally, Connie said;

"I was admiring part of your collection," gesturing towards the display case behind her.

"I hadn't figured you for a sword collector." She finished.

She sounded friendly, and he took that as an invitation to move closer.

"I'm not, but it was a gift…from an old friend."

"It looks well-used," she remarked, somewhat suspiciously.

"That probably has more to do with it surviving a fire than anything else. It's a relic from the old Wayne Manor…" He smiled what he hoped was a suitably disarming smile, to disguise this modified truth. The sword _was_ one of the things salvaged from the ruins of the manor, but it addition Connie had been entirely correct in her assumption that it had seen a lot of use. He just couldn't tell her that.

Their bodies were only inches from each other, and he inhaled the scent of her hair and the faint trace of her perfume. In a moment of forgetfulness he placed his hands gently on her bare shoulders, wanting to kiss her neck, but the moment they touched her shoulders went rigid, and her sharp intake of breath instantly told him that he had now overstepped a line that wasn't there before.

A high-pitched giggle from behind told him that Tiffany had gotten bored of flirting with random men and had decided to search him out again. Connie used the interruption as the perfect moment to excuse herself, and he had to wait for hours before he had the chance to catch up to her again.

The party was over and he managed to block her way just as she was leaving, finally having worked up the courage to utter the two words he had tried to convince himself were unnecessary.

"I'm sorry."

She looked at him, confused at first, frozen in her steps, but then something seemed to dawn on her, and her eyes softened into that same sadness he had seen before.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think Bruce?"

He fell silent, suddenly embarrassed and not knowing quite how to respond. She studied his face for a moment, looking at the reaction she had caused, and smiled.

"It's okay, Bruce. You don't have to make excuses… I should have realized from the beginning that when you're Gotham's most sought after billionaire playboy, ordinary women…are diversions. The fault is mine…I should have guarded my feelings better…because I fell hard for you, and now I have to figure out a way to get back on my feet."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"But for what it's worth," she continued.

"I really did think you were a different…a better man."

She lowered her head, and was out of his reach before he could bring himself to put a hand out to stop her. He stood watching her back as she disappeared through the door and out into the darkness outside.

_So did I,__ Connie. So did I._


	9. Confrontations

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I own none of the characters except those I created myself. The rest belong to DC Comics.  
**Author's Note:** I figured it would be a good thing to post another chapter before the relentless exams take me into their iron grip for a couple of weeks, so here you go. A sort of spring gift from me to you. I hope you enjoy, and for those of you about to take your exams, or those of you in the middle of them, I hope the few minutes you spend reading this can offer you a break.  
Some of you will undoubtedly notice that I deviate a little bit from canon in this chapter, and elaborate a little bit on what was stated in the movies. I thought it made sense, so I hope you won't be too furious with me. Also, the information used about the League of Shadows is taken mostly from Batman Begins: The Visual Guide by Scott Beatty, and the BB novelization by Dennis O'Neil.  
Your reviews and thoughts are greatly appreciated (especially now with my exams coming up, there are very few things that brighten my day more than your reviews). And one last thing, I've now posted a "cast list" to Smoke and Cloak on my profile( just scroll down a bit, it's at the bottom, just above where my stories are), so those of you who are interested; feel free to check it out and comment with your likes/dislikes if you fancy. Thank you.

* * *

It was a busy morning for Gotham City's Police Department. There was really nothing odd or unusual about that, the PD had not lacked work for the past decade or so. However, this morning had been busy for the city's Major Case department, and that was a different matter entirely when taking into account the seriousness of the crimes that Major Case usually dealt with.

Officer Georgina Reed stepped swiftly out of the car that had transported her to what was her third crime scene that morning. Even when she had worked the distinctly shady Bowery and Crown Point area as Harvey Bullock's latest scapegoat, the mornings had been quieter than this, and she was absolutely sure that that wasn't a good sign.

Just after she stepped from the car she saw her temporary partner in Major Case, Josephine MacDonald, jogging towards her. The two of them met just as Georgina stepped onto the carpet that was laid out at the building's front entrance, and Georgina was the first to speak.

"Hey… Third one today… Is this guy racking up some kind of frequent flyer-type bonus for most assassinations in one day or something?"

At first Josie didn't respond, but merely picked up the pace heading for the elevator. As the doors slid shut behind them, however, she said;

"I don't know what the deal is with this guy, and frankly…it's starting to freak me out big time. So far none of the victims have been connected. The only thing they have in common is that one day they were found dead with a bullet to the head and with a playing card stashed somewhere on their person… And we _know_ it's not the Joker. God knows how many times I've called Arkham by now to check that they actually still have the psycho locked up tight…"

Georgina recognized the note of frustration in the voice of her partner, and to her that was as good a sign as any that this case was something special, and not in a good way. As opposed to her, Josie Mac, as she was referred to by most of her colleagues, was a seasoned Major Case investigator, and there weren't many crimes that could throw her off anymore. But this was one of them.

The rest of the elevator ride went by in silence, a silence that continued as they both stepped into the hallway and followed the path made by fellow cops, crime scene technicians and medical examiners to the apartment where a life had been lived, as well as ended.

Josie was first through the door, greeting a couple of the crime scene techs on her way. Georgina followed suit, but didn't say anything. She wasn't so jaded that she could exchange small talk with the techs processing a murder scene. Hell, she still sometimes had to fight not to puke her guts out.

The body was lying in the middle of the living room floor, between the television and the couch, facing the window. At first, Georgina could only see dark hair over an un-tucked shirt and jeans, but as she followed Josie closer, walking carefully to avoid anything that might be evidence, she cursed.

Josie spun around, her eyes immediately finding Georgina, who had frozen in her tracks.

"What?"

"Fuck… I went to the Academy with this guy…He's a cop, his name is Adam Trent…"

Georgina looked away from the body, and exchanged looks with Josie. With a sigh, Josie knelt beside the head of the body, and cursed too, though not with the same strength that Georgina had minutes before.

"Damn…"

After a moment of silence, Josie continued;

"You know, normally I'd say 'if they go after one, they go after us all', but this… We've got nothing on this guy… He can go after whoever he wants, and we've got nothing that can stop him…"

For a while they processed the scene in silence, Georgina interrogating the man who had found the body, and Josie questioned the crime scene techs on their findings. Neither of them discovered very much. Adam Trent was a good guy, quiet, kept to himself, paid his rent on time and generally didn't cause anyone any trouble at all. There wasn't much of a crime scene to speak of either, the cause of death was no mystery, there was a bullet hole in the living room window, which indicated that the shot had come from outside, with the entry angle consistent with a long range sniper shot from someone who knew exactly what they were doing. This probably meant that any fingerprints in the apartment belonged to the victim, or at least people who had a good reason for being there, and that they wouldn't find any prime suspects that way. Their only hope was the bullet that the medical examiner would have to dig out of Adam Trent's scull, but neither Josie nor Georgina seriously thought that that would lead to a big break. Chances were that it would come back identified as the same, custom, untraceable round that was the cause of death for all of Deadshot's victims.

Later that day, Josie and Georgina were sitting in the Major Case bullpen, going through what was now a neat little stack of case files for the nth time. Frustration was evident in both of them as they leafed through the pages, and the other members of the Major Case squad all passed them in silence, knowing full well that Josie would bite their head off if they tried to make light the lack of evidence and leads.

Still later, when lunchtime had turned into dinnertime and further on into evening, Josie and Georgina finally found time in their scrutiny for a meal. They were still in Major Case, but more solitary now, since most of the dayshift had gone home, the swing shift was understaffed, as usual, and the night shift wasn't due to start for a few hours yet. Finally, when they had opened the takeout boxes and made themselves as comfortable as they could, Georgina let her long building frustration into her voice.

"There's got to be a way to get this guy! …There's no way he's invincible, there just isn't…"

"I know…" Josie replied, sounding uncharacteristically defeated.

"I just don't know how…"

Georgina repeatedly jabbed the food in her box with a plastic fork, thinking. After a long moment of silence, she said;

"This Lawton guy… he's an assassin, right?"

"Yeah." Josie interrupted her, sarcastically. Georgina however, didn't seem fazed and continued unabated.

"This means that somehow, somewhere…there is somebody paying him. There's no way in hell that someone of his caliber is working for free." She finished, with a small note of triumph to her voice.

Josie was halfway bringing two chop sticks holding rice to her lips when Georgina finished, and froze in mid motion. For a moment none of them spoke, while Josie seemed to process what Georgina had just said, and what consequences it could have for their investigation.

"That's it!" She said suddenly, dropping the chopsticks without paying any attention to the mess they left on the floor.

"Damn it, rookie, that's it!" She repeated, straightening, a triumphant, wolfish grin appearing on her face.

"We follow the money. We stop digging our heads into these bloody reports, searching for evidence that isn't there, and we start following the money."

"One problem with that," Georgina jumped in, reminding her.

"We still don't know where to start."

"I do." Josie said, the grin on her face widening before she continued.

"When we dealt with the Riddler case last year, the FBI was interested. Gordon worked with some woman from the Computer Crimes Task Force… I bet she would know who to talk to when investigating, shall we say non-legal transfers of large amounts of money…"

Josie leant back in her desk chair, clearly pleased. With one hand she reached into her jacket and pulled out a cigarette case and lighter, flatly ignoring the ban on smoking that was in effect in the Major Case offices.

* * *

The Gotham Public Library was an impressive, large structure located on the good side of Liberty River, on the outskirts of the Uptown business district. The library as an institution had been instated as early as the late 1800s, by Bruce Wayne's ancestor Solomon Wayne, as yet another feature to keep Gotham from turning into a city of vice and corruption.

Solomon Wayne's vision of Gotham had failed rather spectacularly, but recently, perhaps in order to bring some of it back to life, the Wayne Foundation had graciously decided to provide funding for a complete restoration and extension of the library building itself and the collection within it. This resulted in the new Gotham Public Library having one of the largest collections of books and other media in the States, as well as the building being an impressive architectural mix of 19th century columns and stone, and modern glass and steel.

Connie admitted to liking the old part of the library the best. Not that she had time to frequent it much these days, but when she was younger her father had sometimes brought her there on the weekends and let her pick whatever she wanted off the shelves, no matter how obscure. There were fond memories attached to the place for her, as well as a sense of adventure. Being in a library was sort of like being on a treasure hunt, or digging through old drawers and archives for things people had forgotten about a long time ago. And after a fashion that was what she was hoping to do now, to find something forgotten.

The chances of doing so were miniscule, and she was aware of that, but digging through books and finding nothing was still better than doing nothing, and to let the 'what if' questions eat at her. So, having come to that conclusion, she had decided to spend a few hours in the library, just to see if she could dig up anything interesting using what little she knew. If it turned out that she couldn't, she had no choice but to drop the investigation. It wasn't a tempting thought, but Connie was smart enough to realize that if she found nothing she would have to face the fact that the whole thing might be a figment of her imagination.

She had decided to start with Tibet. She hoped that if she could avoid all the typical hard facts and tourist information then maybe she could find _something_ that could explain what Bruce Wayne had been doing there. Because she grew more and more certain that the man in the picture was, indeed, Bruce Wayne, regardless of the theories of the Gotham Grapevine.

The thought that she could be wrong lay in the back of her mind, but no… for some reason she couldn't explain she was becoming steadily more convinced that she was on to something, that there were some secrets to Bruce Wayne that the tabloids didn't know about. Something that Lucius Fox knew…

A couple of hours were spent leafing through the various books she had picked from the shelves, and Connie was starting to get slightly bored reading about Tibetan culture in particular and Asian culture in general when, in a history book that otherwise seemed less than stellar concerning accuracy, she happened upon a chapter that intrigued her more than the others.

_Tibet is said to be the__ home base for the League of Shadows, a mysterious secret society not unlike the Illuminati or the Knights Templar. But where the latter two is frequently fodder for conspiracy theorists the world over, the League of Shadows seems to have been forgotten in the modern world. _

_Said to have been created to maintain balance in the world, with the ultimate goal being to restore the world to a state of paradise, the rumors would have that the League of Shadows has been instrumental at key points in world history, from the sacking of Rome to the Great Fire of London and beyond. Sadly, though many scholars have dug deeply to try and find evidence of the society's existence, no sources to corroborate this has been found to date. _

_The legend says that the society was founded by a man born in Northern Africa centuries ago, and that a prophecy foretold that the man would either save the world, or bring it to ruin. The story goes that the boy grew up to be a talented physician, with abilities so great he was able to call people back from the gates of death. Tragedy struck when the man's wife was killed by an enraged prince, also vying for the woman's attention, and the Physician was disgraced and fled into the desert._

_It is believed that the Physician emerged again, under a different name, as a mighty warrior and the founder of the League of Shadows, and that those who trained under him became feared in the underworld for their skill and ruthlessness.__ It is said that to cross paths with a member of the League of Shadows is to cross paths with one of Death's journeymen. _

Connie stopped reading, her mind reeling. If this wasn't a stretch, nothing was, but could it be? Could Bruce Wayne have had something to do with this League of Shadows?

She sighed, pushed the book away and rested her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. It was too damn unlikely. A badly written book was all the real evidence she had, and even that suggested that this League was nothing more than a myth. It wouldn't do. If she went to Lucius, or anyone else with this suspicion, they would laugh and say she was crazy.

_But_, Connie's burning determination argued, _you've been called crazy before_.

* * *

The familiar smell of fear enveloped him, and with it the feeling of control. It was an odd combination, he knew, but it was still one of the few moods in which he felt quite at home. As long as he was in control of his fear, he was in control of his actions. And his actions had long since come to depend on a state of relaxed awareness without having to always confer with thoughts. Bruce Wayne knew that in some cases there was absolute truth to the words "If you think, you're dead".

The sword felt familiar in his hand, perfectly balanced, and capable of killing with a single move in the right hands. His hands were the right hands.

He inhaled a lungful of air that smelled strongly of incense, and just as he exhaled he saw the first shadow. Swiftly he moved left, and swung the sword to block just as a katana similar in appearance to his own came down on him. Quickly, before his opponent had a chance to strike again he sidestepped, spun and kicked the black clad figure to its knees before finishing it off with a swipe of his sword.

The next one came from behind, but was foolish enough to give the slightest sound as he attacked, allowing Bruce to duck, block and launch a counter attack.

It continued, a seemingly never ending stream of shadowed figures, all of which invariably fell to his sword, one way or another.

Until he opened his eyes.

Then the ninjas were gone, along with the temple and the smell of incense. He was alone in a dark-paneled room, bare except for a few mats, a punching bag and several stands holding katanas, kamas, fighting fans, various throwing weapons and other swords, as well as a variety of equally deadly but not so easily recognizable weapons.

The room had been locked ever since the completion of the Manor. He had neglected his training, or rather; he had neglected the parts of his training which the League of Shadows had enforced, deception, will and action.

And it was high time he did _something_.

He had decided on the direct approach. Seek out Talia. If he were any other person, that approach would be suicide. But he wasn't most people. In the eyes of Gotham he was either a wealthy playboy philanthropist or a dark protector, a select few knew him to be both. In the eyes of the League of Shadows he was a rogue ninja, one who knew their secrets and their methods, one who would be silenced if opportunity gave itself. In the eyes of Talia he was, in addition to that, the man responsible for the death of her father.

But facing the League of Shadows he had no mask adequate enough to hide himself or his motives. That was the drawback to knowing their tricks…they were also his own.

* * *

That night Georgina Reed was walking home like she usually did. A car was just too much trouble in a city like Gotham, where most of the road network was substandard already and getting worse by the week. Walking had its dangers too, but so far Georgina had been willing to risk them, trying to ignore what she felt was a glaring target on her back. She carried a gun, a Sig Sauer both on and off duty, and hoped that, along with what training she had would be enough to protect her from ending up dead in a dumpster somewhere. Technically, the Gotham Police Department had strict rules when it came to the firearms issued, but those rules were written at least twenty years before, when Gotham was a different city, and Georgina had learned her first week on the job that most cops who wanted to stay alive long enough to receive their pensions disregarded them.

Just as she was about to unlock the front door or her building, a figure emerged from around the corner, approaching her quickly. She spun around, and moved to draw her weapon, dropping her keys in the process. The keys fell to the asphalt making a sharp, metallic note, as the figure stopped and spoke.

"Working with the big boys made you jumpy, eh?"

The deep, almost husky and slightly growling voice was one she recognized almost instantly, and she relaxed somewhat, but didn't remove her hand from the holster of her weapon.

"Bullock. What the hell are you doing here?"

She was surprised to see that the question made him visibly uncomfortable. That was a sight not often seen, Harvey Bullock out of his depth. When he still didn't answer, she continued;

"What, the cat got your tongue? Spit it out Bullock, for God's sake. I've got better things to do than stand here and wait for you to pull your head out of your ass…"

He recognized that she was turning his own tough tone back on him, and grinned sheepishly. There was another pause, and then;

"I thought maybe you could use some help…you know, with this Deadshot guy…"

Georgina thought for a moment, processing what Bullock had just said. Then she countered;

"Looking for a way back in the fold, are you Bullock?"

Their eyes met, and Georgina saw that she had been spot on. The look in Bullock's eyes was almost pleading, as if she had caught him red handed doing something he shouldn't, but there was also a flicker of hope.

She didn't actually dislike Harvey Bullock. He was rough around the edges, had the tact and political correctness of a rock, and sometimes exhibited the fact that he had killed far too many brain cells with alcohol a little too clearly. But he still managed to be somewhat charming in his roughness, seemed to be fiercely loyal to the Force, especially the Commissioner, and she suspected that his heart wasn't all stone underneath the shabby coat.

Georgina sighed, and bent to pick up her keys.

"You'd better come up."

Georgina lived on the sixth floor, and since there was no functioning elevator in the building they were stuck taking the stairs. Georgina was used to it, but the exertion seemed to be almost too much for Bullock, who was breathing heavily by the time they reached her front door. She unlocked it, and held it open for Bullock, unable to fully mask a slight smile as she saw the beads of sweat that had gathered on Bullock's brow.

"You want some coffee?" Georgina asked when Bullock had settled down in one of her living room chairs. He seemed to think for a moment, before answering gruffly;

"Sure."

A few minutes later Georgina re-entered the living room carrying two steaming mugs. Handing one to Bullock, she sat down on the couch opposite him.

"So, what have you got?"

"You first." Bullock said, having obviously regained some of his usual arrogance.

Georgina surveyed him for a minute. She knew that she could get in deep trouble with what she was about to do, all depending on who got wind of it. But then she thought that if she had take it this far, she might as well go the distance. Shrugging, she began;

"Alright… Deadshot. His real name is Floyd Lawton. A major player in practically any underworld. If you want someone dead without leaving a trace, and you've got the cash to get other people to do your dirty work for you, this is the best guy for the job. His paycheck is proportionate to his skills though, so this guy doesn't work for just anyone. But he does good work. He's killed six people so far, and we don't have a shred of forensic evidence to connect him to any of the murders. But it's got to be him… No mob hitman or common criminal is this good at covering his tracks…"

"Well, if he's so damn good, how are you gonna get him?"

"We've started looking into the financials… Like I said, Lawton doesn't work for free. Sawyer got Gordon up to speed on the new plan, and he called in the FBI, but so far we've got nothing…"

Georgina paused, cocked her head slightly to one side and surveyed Bullock's grim features.

"…But you already know most of this." Georgina concluded, before continuing;

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be here. So spill it, what have you got?"

Bullock hesitated for a second, before lowering his voice almost to a whisper.

"You gonna keep me in the loop on this, rookie? I'm not gonna give you what I got and find out you took it to the bosses without mentioning my name, am I?"

Georgina raised an eyebrow, and raised and lowered one shoulder, suddenly seeming very nonchalant.

"That depends on what you give me. Send me on a wild goose chase, and I'm not going to thank you for it… but if you got something that's actually going to lead us to this guy…I'll make sure the brass knows I heard it from you…"

"Fair enough."

"I got a contact that might be able to help you track this Lawton guy down… P.I, feisty broad… Russian I think. Her name is Nyssa Raatko…or something like that. Anyway, she's got feelers with just about anything that goes on in the shady places in this city. She could probably tell you a thing or two…"

* * *

It was springtime, but still a distinct chill in the air as he approached the building. Somehow it looked different when viewed from street level as opposed to from above, more intimidating, perhaps, to a regular passerby. But Bruce Wayne knew that the real danger lurked on the inside, behind the dark wooden door and the heavy, drawn curtains.

He pulled the collar of his coat higher around his face, in a vain effort to keep out the cold. What he felt, it was not fear. He knew what to expect, but still, he hesitated. On one level he felt as if he was the same man as he had been when he had first entered the monastery, some five years before. But at the same time he knew he was not, he had experienced much since then, including the truth behind the League, the grief of failing one he loved, and the solace in finding someone else to care about, whether he cared to admit it or not. And he knew that the woman he was about to face could lay all his experiences to ruin.

Without hesitation he walked up the stone steps and pounded three times with his fist on the door. For a moment all he could hear was his own breathing, but then he became aware of movement inside, and soon after the door opened silently.

Inside stood a woman in her early thirties, with dark hair that shone a deep blood red in the dim light of the hallway. She wore a flowing gown, not unlike one a classic movie star might wear, but the softness in the silhouette of the gown did not match the steely look in her eyes. In a split second he wondered if he was going to have to fight already at the front door, but a voice from inside told him that it wouldn't be necessary.

"Whisper… let him in."

The voice was clearly audible where he stood, despite the fact that it was obviously coming from a different room entirely. So, he concluded, they know who I am, just as I know who they are.

The woman blocking his path stepped back when she heard the command, and turned, gesturing for him to follow. He did, up a flight of stairs and down a narrow corridor. He observed that there was nothing in the house to indicate that it was currently inhabited by a member, or several members of the League of Shadows. No weapons of any kind were visible, nothing obvious had been done to the layout or the furnishings, and when he passed one of the larger rooms, he could hear the sound of a TV and see flickering shadows of people who were apparently watching. Everything indicated that their presence at the location was temporary, or perhaps even unauthorized.

Whisper, as the woman was apparently named, opened the door at the end of the corridor, and stepped aside. She didn't have to gesture for him to enter, her movements were instruction enough.

The room was not much different from the rest of the house. Dark paneled walls, curtains drawn in front of the windows, and a hardwood floor that had seen better times. However, this room had something that, from what he had seen of the other rooms, the rest of the house lacked; furnishings reminiscent of the League of Shadows temple, including the weapons. It was all on a smaller scale, of course, but still he felt as if he had been transported back in time upon entering. Particularly when he saw the woman eying him from across the room.

He knew that she was about a decade older than him, born sometime in the 1960s, but she still looked as if she was close to him in age, perhaps even younger. Her hair was as dark as Whisper's, but a shimmering jet black, without any hint of other colors, and her eyes dark and ageless. She appeared relaxed, unsurprised at his arrival, even though it seemed like he had entered her current sanctuary. Casually dressed in black, loose-fitting pants that looked to be made of linen, and a color matched wraparound top with sleeves that flared out to reveal a deep red lining, she extended her arms as if to welcome him.

"Her name is Whisper A'Daire…a promising young woman. She came to us after your time."

She approached him slowly, smiling slightly as she did so. If he hadn't known better he would have thought it a pleasant smile, but he knew differently. It was all a mask, a part of the act.

"You haven't changed much," she continued softly, tracing one hand across his cheek.

"Likewise," he replied, trying to keep his voice level.

She laughed.

"I was not sure when you would come to me. But I knew you would."

"Then I'm sure you also know why."

She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to continue.

"You set Floyd Lawton loose on this city…"

"Did I?" She said teasingly, leaning closer.

"…And I want to know why."

She paused, seeming somewhat disappointed, pulled back and surveyed him.

"Of course you do… Never one to leave any stone unturned."

She spoke the words with poorly masked distain.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A pleased smile crept over her lips when she saw the fire she had ignited in his eyes. When she didn't answer, he gripped her wrist and pulled her into a vice-like grip. Reacting quickly, as if by second nature, she reached out with her other arm and expertly broke his grip. In one swift swipe of the arm she moved to attack him, but he anticipated the blow and blocked it.

"Well," She said with a little laugh, "if you're willing to fight me for it…"

She attacked again, quick, agile attacks that were designed to hit and disable key points on the human body, and that quickly would have, had her opponent been of any less skill. As if were, however, her attacks were blocked or diverted.

"A clever man like you, I thought you would have figured it out ages ago!"

The words were spat at him, as she readied herself for another round. This time she approached fiercer, not quite as accurate, but with much more force, and he had to really fight back. The fight quickly turned from being about single kicks and punches into a series of fluid motions. He punched; she sidestepped, spun and kicked, turning the kick into a counterattack. He ducked, swung and lashed out towards her chest, for a moment unprotected.

"If you wanted me, you could have come straight for me… I never knew you to be the kind of woman to settle for less."

A chair smashed to pieces as they found they no longer had the patience to fight around the furniture. As the splinters flew there was a brief pause in the fight, and Talia spoke;

"He was the only person in the world I cared about, whose approval I needed… And you beat him down and left him to die!"

Her voice sounded clearly agitated now, which in itself was unusual, since the League prided themselves on the ability to exert control.

"Don't bother with the theatrics…you spat your father in the face, defied his wishes even…with me."

"His plan was that if you passed your initiation, he would summon me and I would be offered to you in marriage…and you would take your rightful place among us. You know this! Do you know what he did to me when he discovered that I had taken his offer for granted...? Do you know what he did when he found out that I had slept with you? He had me flogged! And I endured it…because I thought that if I did you would still be mine. But then you took everything we offered you and threw it back in our faces, choosing to stand in our path rather than alongside us…"

Suddenly she unleashed a flurry of attacks against him, and he did not manage to block them all. More furniture was smashed, and he quickly found himself forced to kneel, hearing her voice, dripping with poison, in his ear.

"This is not sentimentality, Bruce…it is a legacy. Legacy and vengeance, in balance. I intend to finish what he started..."

She was cut off when he twisted his way out of her grip, throwing a punch that knocked her back before she could counter. This did not subdue her, and she came at him again with a fierceness rarely seen, flatly ignoring the trickle of blood now coming from her lower lip. Their fight had now placed them near the windows, and as he ducked a punch he heard glass shatter.

"I intend to bring Gotham to ruin, and it's protector to a sudden and untimely death…but not before he has suffered through watching those closest to him die. Mr. Lawton is my tool, nothing more, nothing less."

The remark hit a nerve; she saw it and knew exactly how to take advantage of it. In a fraction of a second he was caught off guard, a moment so short that no ordinary opponent could have used it. But Talia al Ghul was not ordinary. In that fraction of a second she put all her force into a single kick, a kick that sent him flying through the curtains, out the already broken window and into the alley below.


	10. Slippery When Wet

**Disclaimer:**Batman and all associated characters are the property of DC Comics. No profit is being made from the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended. The only characters belonging to me are the original ones, created specifically for this story.  
**Author's Notes:** I'm so sorry for the update lag. I had this chapter near completed for at least three weeks, but then I started my work for the summer, and didn't have much energy left for anything else, so I didn't finish the chapter until this weekend. As for more practical matters, my friend Mia did beta this, as she usually does, but by her own admission got so caught up in the action that she forgot to look for mistakes, so if you see any, feel free to drop me a line, and I'll get it fixed. Mia also remarked on the lack of Connie in this chapter, to which I can only say that Connie will come back strong in the next one, I think I can pretty much promise you that.  
I still love reading your reviews, so I'd be very happy if you'd take a few minutes to let me know what you think. Any other questions or comments, feel free to email/pm me. Hope you've all had a great summer so far! Enjoy!

* * *

"I don't care if you're the president of the United States. You got your ass kicked, Bruce, you're not going anywhere…"

Bruce winced in pain as he tried to sit up, but was pushed back down on the bed, firmly but gently, by a pair of latex gloved hands.

"Is that you official diagnosis, doctor?" He quipped, but quickly decided against provoking her further when two of her fingers suddenly applied a bit more pressure than the others, making him wince again, and two steel blue eyes narrowed in his direction.

Her name was Leslie Thompkins, she was a spirited woman somewhere in her fifties, who usually divided her time between working with Wayne Medical on making new medicine available to an increasing number of people, and working to save as many as she could as part of the core team in one of Gotham's largest free clinics. She had shoulder-length dark hair streaked with gray, which was usually gathered in a ponytail, and attentive, kind blue eyes that gave her a calm but caring expression, except when provoked.

Leslie was also an old friend of Thomas Wayne, the two having met when Leslie was still in medical school. Bruce had brief memories of a much younger Leslie at the Manor, attending a party thrown by his parents. Never one afraid of speaking her mind she had gotten herself involved in an argument, only to have Thomas Wayne siding with her, much to the surprise of the opposing part. Much later, Bruce thought he could see what had made his father take an interest in Leslie. They both seemed to share a very idealistic core, believing that as people of means and a good education they had an obligation to help those who had less.

Of course, Leslie had also been an invaluable resource to Thomas Wayne's offspring. Because there were some injuries that Alfred Pennyworth, with all his military and medical experience, could not fix, and for those Leslie had come in as nothing less than a life saver. Although, she had very nearly refused to help him. He could still vaguely remember the look on her face the first time Alfred had found it necessary to call on her. She had looked at him with something resembling disgust, both amazed and angry that the son of a man she had admired greatly, a man as socially conscious as Thomas Wayne, thought himself good enough to step above the law. But, luckily for him, the doctor that was such a large part of Leslie's personality won out, and as time went on, and she saw what he could accomplish as a vigilante, her resentment had grown milder. She was still the first to speak up against his activities, but in addition to being a voice of reason in his life she had also taken upon herself the role of his protector.

"You are not going anywhere." She repeated, putting emphasis on every word, before adding almost as an afterthought;

"Unless it's the sofa upstairs. I'd say 'bed', but that would be too much for me to hope for, wouldn't it?"

The words were spoken kindly, but with a hint of irony that was impossible to miss.

"Indeed." Bruce saw no cause to argue. It would be useless, and it would probably only earn him a scolding for reckless spending of his energy.

Leslie had barely left the mansion before Bruce disregarded the doctor's orders and made his way, albeit somewhat gingerly, into the secret network of caves that was the base of operations for his currently incapacitated alter ego. He had discovered a long time ago that he rather lacked a talent for doing nothing.

Carefully, as to not further damage his already broken ribs or worsen any of the other injuries Leslie had listed to him earlier, he eased himself into a chair that faced an array of computer screens, and, touching a button on the desk in front of him, the screens were brought to life.

A while later, when each of the screens showed the details of a case file concerning Floyd Lawton's victims, he registered the approaching sound of footsteps and quickly concluded that Alfred had probably discovered that he was no longer to be found upstairs and had decided to check the most likely place his master could have escaped to. His conclusion was proved correct when he heard the older man's voice behind him.

"If you would excuse me saying so, Master Wayne, but you do make a bloody poor patient…"

Bruce shrugged, and leant back in his chair, trying to ignore the jolts of pain surging through his body as a result.

"We all have our faults, Alfred."

"Indeed, sir. But not everyone has faults that might very well get them killed one day."

"I can't just lie and bed and do nothing, Alfred… It's almost as if Talia _wants_ me to figure it out. Or perhaps she just said more than she had meant to, in the heat of battle. Either way, I intend to figure out what she has planned. She's the mind behind all this…Floyd Lawton is just the well paid hand that does the work."

Alfred noticed that his master had a deck of cards in front of him, and that he had placed some cards so that they corresponded to the monitors. He had read enough of the reports to know that each victim had been found with a playing card somewhere on their person, as if the whole thing was a poor mimicry of what the Joker had done, perhaps to reawaken public fear, or just to confuse the police in their investigation. Now Alfred also noticed that all the cards were from the suit of spades, and that the numeric value had so far moved steadily upwards, starting at two of spades and, with the last three murders to be committed, reaching seven. The remaining cards, Bruce had placed in a row in the middle of the table, and he was meditating over them, his hand sometimes resting on a card, moving it slightly, before moving it back.

"Any luck in discovering who the next victims may be, Master Wayne?"

Bruce shook his head slightly, but then seemed to change his mind, and said;

"Maybe."

There was a moment of silence, before Bruce continued.

"It seems he's graduated from criminals to crime fighters…" Bruce observed quietly,

"He started with a homeless guy…among the lowest in the ranks of any city…" While he spoke, Bruce slowly placed one finger on the two of spades card that rested on the table beneath the screen showing Charles Corcorran's autopsy photo.

"Then came a drug dealer" His finger moved to three of spades, lying beneath a screen showing another autopsy photo, this one of a once beautiful young woman.

"Then another…" Again his finger moved from one card to the next, but this time he hesitated, as if reconsidering.

"But something changes here… The first two had no family and very few friends who cared enough about them to even ID them to the police. They were nobodies, in every sense of the term… But Mark…Mark was different, he was one of mine. And Lawton had to have known that…the chance of him picking one of my informants out for a random hit is, statistically, very slim. It could be a coincidence of course, but I don't believe in those kinds of coincidences. I think Mark was the turning point…to show me that this was something other than random murders, or even random assassinations, something personal."

Bruce paused, and threw a glance over his shoulder, as if to see if Alfred had reacted to any of what he had just said. But Alfred stood quietly as always, waiting for his master to continue.

"After that, Lawton moved on to people in law enforcement… Derek Seaver was a court clerk, Claire Girard worked as a secretary in the District Attorney's Office, and Adam Trent was a cop…"

Bruce paused again, and the sentence hung unfinished in the air between them, until Alfred urged him on.

"But?"

"But this is all just the beginning." Bruce sighed.

"The real challenge Talia has undoubtedly promised Lawton begins now, when I'm aware of the plan… That's why she will most likely have saved the most important people for last."

"Important to whom, sir? You or the city?"

"Knowing Talia, and considering our…history, adding what she said during the fight, I would imagine both."

Again his fingers touched the card, this time the seven cards that he'd placed in the middle of the table. Gently he pushed the King and Ace of Spades away from the others.

"I think I know who these are supposed to represent…but the others…"

"The King and the Ace, sir?"

Bruce placed a finger on the King and the Ace in turn, and said quietly:

"Commissioner Gordon… and the Batman."

There was a moment of silence as both men seemed to consider what had just been said. After a while, Alfred finally asked:

"And the others?"

"That's what I have to figure out…" Bruce replied.

"What I'm afraid of is that I'm going to figure it out the hard way."

* * *

Georgina Reed was standing in front of her bedroom mirror, skeptically surveying herself. At the moment it was her outfit that made her uncomfortable. Red stiletto heels, black hotpants and a top that felt heavy with sparkly stones under the black blazer was not how she had grown accustomed to dressing. And although, on some level, she might have thought it refreshing to go out in something other than her work clothes, she was far too nervous to consider that an advantage.

What worried her most was that, because of the way she was dressed, there would be nowhere to conceal her gun, and she did not like the thought of going out without a weapon. It felt as if she was forced to go out without a lifeline. She knew, of course, that many people in Gotham walked the streets unarmed every day, and that most of them survived, but when walking Crown Point and Bowery with Harvey Bullock, she had also seen her fair share of those who had not been so fortunate, and she did not want to end up like them.

But she couldn't go to a club in her everyday clothes, much less her uniform. And Bullock had been very clear about how if she expected to meet this Nyssa Raatko character, she needed to fit in. Nyssa would not, and could not, deal openly with the police, that would surely get her killed. But Georgina had understood, from what Bullock had said, that Nyssa would sometimes be sympathetic towards law enforcement, and help if she was asked, and it served whatever hidden purpose she thought herself to have in the city.

Georgina herself didn't know what to think. This all seemed incredibly shady to her, but, she thought while she locked the door to her apartment, if it can help us stop Deadshot, then maybe it's worth it. She had begun to realize that as a Gotham cop, the ability to compromise was a necessity. That they did not have the resources needed to do battle on all fronts, but that they needed to prioritize, and go after the biggest threats first. And that that meant sometimes having to make deals with people they would rather have put behind bars. Walking through the darkening city streets, she began to understand how Bullock had become so hardened.

Much to Georgina's surprise it didn't take her long to get into the club. The line had been crowded with people, some fresh faced and others already well into their night out, and within half an hour of her arrival one of the guys at the door had singled her out and pulled her, along with some other women, out of the line and into the club.

Inside there was a sound level unlike anything Georgina was used to, and she was reminded almost instantly why she didn't spend her free time frequenting the Gotham club scene. The flashing lights felt as if they temporarily blinded her, and the throbbing bass made it impossible for her to hear anything of what was going on around her. Georgina felt instantly uncomfortable, but gritted her teeth and kept walking deeper into the club.

She had no idea what, or who she was looking for. Bullock had been beyond vague when directing her, which was unlike him, and only served to make her even more skeptical of the situation. She moved past the bar, zigzagging between the tables in the seating area, and was about to walk in a wide circle around the dance floor, when something, or rather someone caught her eye.

She didn't know what made her look at first. It was a feeling more than anything, the feeling of being watched. She glanced around and saw nothing, but that did not erase the feeling that there _was_ someone watching her.

Then, as if she had appeared out of nowhere, Georgina spotted a woman across the room that did not quite fit with the rest of the club's clientele. When she looked closer, she noticed that it was a small difference, nothing she would have noted with more than a curious glance had she been out just for fun.

The woman was dressed all in black, as opposed to the much more colorful garb of the people around her, and had short-cropped hair as dark as her clothing. She looked like she might have mistaken this club for one of the underground Goth clubs Georgina knew there were plenty of around the city, but this woman did not seem fazed at the prospect of not fitting in at all. There was a clear feeling of purpose about the woman, and Georgina suspected, mostly based on the burning glance that lingered on her that tonight she was part of that purpose.

Involuntarily Georgina shuddered, as the black-clad woman silently beckoned her to follow; only to disappear from view through what Georgina assumed was a back door of some description. Hesitant at first, Georgina followed. No use in backing out now. Deadshot was probably already on the hunt for his next victim, and if this was helping to put a stop to him – so be it.

The door turned out to be an emergency exit, which lead to a network of stairs making up a series of fire escapes, all criss-crossing, coming from the different floors. But Georgina couldn't see any sign of the elusive mystery woman, so she warily began making her way downwards, towards street level and the alley behind the club.

The alley was dark, as was the norm of Gotham City alleyways, and Georgina became all the more wary of her surroundings because of it. The alley was blocked off by a brick wall at one end, and the barrier was so tall that she would not be able to scale it without some kind of assistance. Silently, Georgina prayed that she wouldn't have to when movement behind her made her spin around.

Facing her was the mystery woman from the club. She was clearly older than Georgina, but Georgina found that she could not guess how old the woman might be. There was something…ethereal about her that still felt very powerful, more like a demon than an elf. Because of the darkness, Georgina could not clearly make out the other woman's facial features, and she realized that if she was asked, she would have trouble giving an accurate description.

"Nyssa?"

Georgina noticed to her annoyance that her voice was trembling slightly when she called out. The call had the desired effect though, the woman took a few steps forwards, then stopped to survey her. Georgina returned the favor. From this distance she could make out a few more features. High cheekbones, elegantly shaped eyebrows, a bottom lip that was fuller than the upper lip, a rather small nose and almond shaped, electric blue eyes under tousled black hair.

"You are Miss Reed, I presume?"

Georgina noted that there was no trace of a Russian accent in the other woman's voice, and wondered whether or not Bullock had really been right when he said she was Russian. Warily she responded:

"Yes… how did you know?"

"Harvey Bullock…he showed me a picture…so, when you came into the club, I would know." She paused for a moment before continuing.

"I have what you came for."

Slowly, she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which seemed to glow almost ghostly white in the semi-darkness. Georgina drew a deep breath. _This _was why she was here?

Georgina Reed may not have been a very experienced police officer, but one thing she had learned: Nothing in Gotham comes without a price.

"What's the catch?" She asked.

She saw a glint in the other woman's eyes and suddenly became scared that she had somehow gone too far. Before she could figure out exactly why that was, Nyssa had taken a step back and said something in what sounded like Russian, apparently calling two muscular-looking, black-clad men forward. Without hesitation, they effectively barred any escape route she might have taken and began to direct blows and kicks in her direction.

For a split second Georgina had no idea what was going on, but when one of the two gorillas caused her to stumble with a well-placed low kick, she instinctively understood that this was for real and that she would have to fight back. She managed to regain her footing and dodge a blow from gorilla number two, but only to have gorilla number one deliver a blow directly to the back of her neck, knocking her down easily. While she was on the ground, gorilla number two came back into the fight, delivering an effective kick to her ribs. Georgina thought she could feel at least one of her ribs crack, but didn't have time to think about it–she was too busy gasping for breath. She managed to stumble onto all fours, and was surprised to see blood trickling from her mouth onto her hands. Just as she was instinctively trying to crawl away from her attackers, she heard something being spoken loudly in the same Russian-sounding language, and the two men disappeared into the shadows once more.

She barely registered the sound of footsteps, but reacted when Nyssa's slim figure crouched over her. Georgina braced herself for a killing blow, but instead felt a cold hand against her chin that lifted her head slightly, allowing her to see into a pair of electrical blue eyes that seemed to gleam in the darkness.

Nyssa put a finger to her lips, and spoke gently.

"This city is for vultures, Georgina…"

Georgina almost winced at the use of her first name, but managed to restrain herself.

"They think that if you have enough money, everything is for sale. And most of the time they are right. But I know…and you have learned, that there are some things which demand a greater price, or a greater sacrifice than money. Sometimes…"

She paused and eyed Georgina with an intensity that was unlike anything Georgina could remember having experienced before.

"Sometimes only blood is payment enough."

Nyssa wiped blood off Georgina's jaw with one hand, and held up the folded note in the other. Knowing that she would only get this one chance to take what she had come for, Georgina quickly grabbed the note, staring almost disbelievingly at it.

Nyssa stood, and turned to leave, when Georgina called after her:

"If you know all the things they say you know… why are you helping us?"

Nyssa stopped, and turned back, a slight smile visible on her face.

"I was brought up to believe that even among criminals there is a code of honor. When I came here, I was quickly proven wrong. So now I help those who are willing to pay the price…"

"Does that include beating the shit out of your clients?" Georgina asked, some of the fighter spirit having found its way back into her voice.

Nyssa's smile broadened, and she shook her head before she continued to walk. Georgina watched her go, and oddly enough she thought she heard a faint, high-pitched and slightly unnerving laughter accompany the supposed private investigator. Only when Nyssa had disappeared from view did it occur to Georgina to look for the two men Nyssa had with her, but they were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Georgina Reed spent the rest of her night in the emergency room, and her mood when she came to work the following day was suitably worn. Josie raised an eyebrow at the sight of her split lip, and asked carefully:

"Hey rookie… rough night?

Georgina shot her a dark look from across the desk, but softened slightly when she saw the worried look in Josie's eyes.

"Yeah…guess you could say that."

"What happened?"

Georgina shrugged and shook her head slightly in response.

"It was nothing…"

"Doesn't look like nothing." Josie remarked, but didn't push it further.

Georgina pulled the hard won note out of her jeans pocket and began typing what had turned out to be an address into their database. She had no idea if it was legit or if it would turn out to be just another red herring, but a part of Georgina hoped it would be Floyd Lawton's address. But, as she had become increasingly more aware, it could also be a dead end. The machine began its search, and Georgina leant carefully back in her chair, taking a moment to feel her sore ribs, also acquired the night before.

Just as she did so, Commissioner James Gordon emerged from Maggie Sawyer's office. He made his way through the bullpen, sometimes smiling and nodding or exchanging a couple of words with some of the detectives as he passed them. He was about to walk past Georgina and Josie when he saw Georgina's face and stopped.

"Officer Reed? What happened to you…?"

"I walked into a door."

She was fully aware of how ridiculous her response sounded, but she didn't see any reason to tell anyone about her night out clubbing…at least not when she didn't know how legitimate the information gained would turn out to be.

But Gordon, as she would soon find out, was not that easily fooled.

"Do you have a minute, Officer?"

Georgina was surprised at how gentle his voice sounded, and since she didn't think it seemed like a good idea to refuse the Police Commissioner, she nodded, and got up from her seat. Gordon didn't say a word, only lead the way to a disused office down the hall and closed the door behind them. Inside, he turned to Georgina and said;

"You know, most people have forgotten that I was in the military… it's a long time ago, but still…"

"So?"

Georgina didn't want to sound like an ungrateful fourteen year old, but on the spot she couldn't think of a better response. Gordon seemed to understand her intentions and smiled a small, forgiving smile before continuing.

"So, I know what someone looks like after they've been beat up."

He didn't give her a chance to comment on this before he continued;

"Georgina… I want to know who did this to you, and why."

Georgina looked up at the use of her first name. That wasn't something she was used to her bosses using, or even knowing. But Gordon apparently did. And since she had a feeling that it would be just as bad an idea to lie in the face of Gotham's Police Commissioner, she took a deep breath, and told him everything. About Bullock, about Nyssa Raatko, about the attack, the price and the note. Gordon stood silent and mostly devoid of expressions until she finished. Then, he kindly asked:

"Is there anything you want from me?"

Georgina raised an eyebrow, and replied;

"Like what?"

Gordon shrugged.

"Some time off… Bullock's head on a silver platter…"

She tried to remain serious, if nothing else to try and minimize the strain on her two cracked ribs, but nevertheless snorted with laughter when Gordon mentioned Bullock.

"No thanks…" she managed to say, trying to hold back the laughter.

"I want to see if we get anything on that address I got… but if we don't, Bullock's ass is mine."

"Good enough for me," Gordon nodded, before Georgina excused herself and went back to her desk.

Barely half an hour later, Georgina noticed the looming shadow who she knew belonged to Harvey Bullock in the hallway outside.

_Probably hovering around, waiting for his opportunity to take credit if I get something off that address_ Georgina thought, feeling the smoldering anger she held against Bullock from the night before flaring up. She decided to be fair, and made her way out into the hallway to confront him.

He noticed her the moment she closed the door behind her, and although his smile faded slightly at the sight of the bruise she sported on one cheek, that didn't do anything to subdue her anger.

"So, how'd it go last night?" Bullock asked, sounding just as cocky as he usually did.

Georgina shrugged, pretending to consider her response.

"Oh, not too bad… I got an ass-kicking and a couple of cracked ribs…"

He seemed to pick up on where this was going, and tried to calm her.

"Listen…Reed…"

"Bullock, shut up! It would have cost you five seconds…five LOUSY seconds, not even that, to warn me that this Russian broad you set me up with took her payment in blood. And you didn't bother to say anything. Thanks to you, I spent most of last night in the emergency room!"

Apparently Bullock had now realized that he was getting yelled at by someone half his size, and found it was time to start arguing back.

"Look, I'm not exactly tight with the broad… I thought maybe she'd go easy on you! Did you get anything from her about the Lawton guy?"

"Easy? Yeah, sure, I guess if you call a couple of Russian mob guys three times my size easy…"

Both of them paused for a while, each staring at the other, sizing up the opposition.

"As far as Lawton goes…" Georgina began, her voice back to its normal volume,

"I might have gotten a lead off that private investigator of yours. What's it to you?"

Bullock seemed to quickly pick up on the fact that he might be on the verge of getting screwed, because he quickly voiced a protest.

"Reed! We had a deal! If I got you what you needed, you'd mention me to the brass."

Georgina seemed to stop for a moment and take stock, before she calmly, as if explaining something, replied:

"Bullock. You screwed me over. I have issues with people putting me in the hospital and expecting gratitude. So, what's to keep me from screwing you back? I think I'm just going to keep my mouth shut…"

Inside the Major Case offices you could hear a pin drop. Gordon had been on his way to leave, when he had heard the argument between Officers Reed and Bullock. The silence around him indicated quite clearly that he wasn't alone in that, because everyone in Major Case, including Josie MacDonald, had stopped what they were doing and was paying attention to the shadows outside the door.

"She's a tough nut to crack that one…" Gordon remarked quietly to Josie, whose desk he was standing next to.

Josie raised an eyebrow and looked sideways up at Gordon.

"I'll say… I don't think I've ever heard Bullock take heat from anyone like that before…except from you."

A sly grin tugged at the corners of Josie's mouth when she saw the somewhat embarrassed reaction of the Commissioner. He had known Harvey for years, and been one of the witnesses to his…versatile career path through law enforcement, mostly as a colleague, but also as boss, during Bullock's brief previous stint in Major Case.

Activity returned to normal when Georgina re-entered the room, and she hadn't even sat down at her desk before the printer beside her spat out a piece of paper. Georgina grabbed it absentmindedly, having seemingly forgotten what she had set the computer to work on before her argument with Bullock. However, it didn't take more than a quick glance down at the paper in her hand for her to remember and utter;

"Son of a bitch!" Loud enough for everyone in the office to hear her.

Josie looked up briefly, asking:

"You got something?"

Georgina flipped the paper around and placed it on top of everything else on Josie's desk.

"Yeah." She declared, her voice almost breathless with triumph.

For a brief moment Georgina waited, until she saw Josie rummage frantically around her desk for another piece of paper to compare to the one she had just given her. Then, as she noticed Josie's eyes widen, a wolfish grin crept up on her lips.

The two of them locked eyes for a second, before Josie turned around sharply, calling after Gordon, who had come a few steps closer to leaving the office.

"Sir! You need to see this!"

Gordon turned quickly, encouraged by the urgency in Josie's voice, and in five steps he was back at the desk where Josie sat, alternating between utter surprise and eagerness.

"Georgina got a hold of Lawton's last known address… He was even stupid enough to give us his picture!"

Gordon glanced over her shoulder at the two sheets she was holding. One was from INTERPOL, proclaiming that the dangerous criminal named Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot had escaped custody and was at large, while the other was a print out of a tenancy agreement with a copy of a driver's license attached. The name on the contract was obviously fake, as well as the driver's license… but the images matched.

"Samuel Colt-Winchester….that figures," Gordon muttered,

"The guy took his cover name from inventors of guns and ammo."

"Get this to Maggie," Gordon continued after a moment,

"And prepare yourselves for one hell of a roll-out."

Josie stood quickly, grabbing the two sheets from Gordon and heading in the direction of Maggie Sawyer's office. The rest of the squad room seemed to come to life in a sudden sense of urgency. Some made phone calls; others stuck their heads together in quiet conversation, while some shouted commands over the heads over everyone else. In the middle of this, Gordon noticed, Harvey Bullock still stood hesitant, now just inside the door. Gordon noticed, and raised his voice just enough for Bullock to hear him.

"You looking for a chance to be a hero, Bullock?"

It was said half in jest, half in seriousness, but it was apparent from Bullock's reaction that he really wouldn't mind a chance to get a foot in the door with Major Case again. Gordon seemed to consider the reaction for a moment, then turned to Georgina.

"What do you think, Officer? Would you trust that guy with your life?"

Georgina screwed up her face in mock concentration, and seemed to consider Gordon's question thoroughly, before she shrugged and said;

"Sure. Why not?"

Bullock's mouth fell open in surprise, and Georgina couldn't help but grin at that. Gordon seemed to think something similar, because he smiled, before locking eyes with Bullock and nodding towards Georgina.

"You're with her. Now get moving…both of you."

* * *

The apartment that was registered on Floyd Lawton was in an upscale part of the city, in a newly constructed apartment building. At first Georgina thought this odd, she had expected him to hide in a dump, some rundown building where whatever other tenants there were would not dare to look at him twice for fear of dying. But, as Bullock had remarked while they drove uptown: What's the point of having one of the best paid jobs in the world if you're not going to spend the money?

She settled for that. It made sense, in a way. Floyd Lawton certainly seemed like the type who liked showing off a bit.

Their entry was silent. Or at least as silent as it could be, with at least fifteen police officers from Major Case and a couple of SWAT teams, trying to gain access to the building. The teams quickly divided, one on the elevators, one on the stairs, each followed by two small groups of policemen. Georgina found herself, separated from Bullock, in one of the teams going up the stairs. She wondered for a second whether or not Bullock had made a conscious move to get on one of the teams riding the elevators, and came to the conclusion that that was probably the case.

She didn't really have time to be dismayed, and even if she had, she probably wouldn't be. She was beginning to understand that this was Bullock's way.

As Georgina and the team in front of her emerged from the stairwell she discovered that they were the first ones to get to the apartment in question. The SWAT team prepared to breach the door, Georgina found herself tasting the adrenaline of fear. Her weapon was drawn, but pointing towards the floor, her finger on the trigger. It was as if she could clearly feel her heart pounding against her ribs, and for a moment she thought it might break free of her ribcage, but she somehow managed to control it by staring intently at the door in front of her. She was trying to visualize what it would look like inside. At the academy they had trained for a variety of different scenarios, but no matter how much they had been drilled in the proper procedures, Georgina had discovered that nothing could really prepare you for the reality. What the drilling did do was create a sort of alternate consciousness that, if you kept training it, could in some cases override your natural instincts. And although Georgina was nowhere near mastery of this, she had already tasted what it felt like to have your instincts suppressed by learned actions. Focusing her thoughts away from her instinct to turn and run, she managed to get her pulse more under control, and as the splintered lock gave way in front of her, everything sped up.

The SWAT team spread through the apartment like scattered marbles, shouting commands in a language that seemed all their own. Georgina, being inexperienced compared to most of the other police officers had, almost as a second thought, been pushed towards the back of the group, and so most of the rooms had been cleared by the time she entered. She glanced around, and relaxed when she saw that there were no armed assassins apparent anywhere. Within five more minutes, the apartment was crowded with yet more police officers, and they all started to tear the place apart, looking for evidence of what Floyd Lawton had been up to.

Georgina joined her colleagues in the search, and made her way carefully through the apartment, taking in her surroundings, looking for anything that could help her learn more about Floyd Lawton. As she should have expected of a professional assassin, there wasn't much to find. She walked further and further into the apartment, until she ended up in the bedroom.

The bed was made, and showed no signs of having been slept in recently. Everything else in the room appeared equally immaculate. There were no books or other paraphernalia on the bedside table, no clothes or shoes strewn about. Nothing to indicate that an actual person really lived there. She slid open the door to the closet, to see if there were any clothes in it at all, but just as the door slid open she was surprised by an arm emerging, and a hand gripping her. Before she could even think to resist, she was pulled sideways towards the closet, she collided with the opened door, was knocked off balance and fell to the floor. She yelled out in surprise, just as a dark-clad figure stepped out of the closet and made for the window.

It didn't take her long to get back on her feet and lash out after her attacker, but she was just a moment too late, her clawing fingers couldn't get a good grasp, and she was brought down again by a swift tackle. He was halfway out the window by the time she had gathered her wits enough to draw her weapon and aim. She fired twice in quick succession, but with so much adrenaline in her veins, her aim suffered, and one round missed, embedding itself in the wall. Round number two, however, hit its intended target, but the hit wasn't significant enough to stop him in his tracks. Instead it only served to hurry his exit, and Georgina could hear the fire escape clatter as her suspect fled the scene.

Still fueled by adrenaline as well as a certain anger, she followed, crossing the room in two steps. Just as she was about climb out onto the fire escape to take up pursuit, shots were fired from below in her direction. Instinctively, she spun away from the window and crouched down in an attempt to avoid the bullets. She counted three shots, and then waited for about five seconds before daring to think about continuing.

Whether or not she would actually have had the guts to pursue Deadshot turned out to be irrelevant. Just as the five seconds passed, two other police officers came running through the door. She realized that they had probably been alarmed by her surprised yell, and that what had seemed like several minutes to her, had in reality only been a matter of seconds. Before either of the officers could begin to question her, the familiar voice of Harvey Bullock sounded loud and clear from the doorway.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Georgina, who had sat crouched on the floor as if frozen when the first two officers entered the room, now got slowly to her feet.

"Son of a…" she began, mostly to herself, but she didn't finish. She noticed Bullock looking to her for an explanation, and began hesitantly:

"It appears that…that the suspect was still on location." She said, eying Bullock's reaction. As predicted, his eyes widened, and his voice rose to a dangerously high level.

"_What?_"

At that point Georgina braced herself for a screaming match with Bullock to defend her actions, but before either of them could begin another voice interrupted.

"Bullock…outside."

Bullock's eyes shot a wicked glance at the speaker, but the third voice only grew more insistent at that.

"_Now._"

Bullock reluctantly moved aside to reveal the much smaller, but no less commanding form of Captain Maggie Sawyer. Georgina could hear Bullock muttering curse words under his breath as he removed himself from the room.

Maggie Sawyer's presence seemed to cause several of the officers that crowded the entrance to the room to lose interest as well, and only a few stuck around to hear what would happen next.

"What happened, Reed?"

"The place was cleared, and we were checking all the rooms for possible evidence… I was in here, alone, and I thought that since the room really didn't look lived-in, that I'd check the closet for clothes and shoes just to see if there was anything there at all. I slid open the door, and he jumped out at me and slammed me into the side of the closet…"

"You get a good look at him?"

Georgina shook her head.

"Tall, dark hair, medium build… Fair bet that it's our guy, but he didn't exactly stick around…"

Maggie Sawyer sighed, and asked:

"Then what happened?"

"He bolted for the window. I lashed out at him, but he tackled me and sent me to the floor for a second. I pulled my weapon and fired just as he was climbing out through the window…

"How many shots did you fire?"

"Two. One missed, hit the window frame, but I think the second one hit him in the shoulder."

Sawyer nodded.

"We had another quick response team surrounding the building on ground level…If he got out, they'll know where he went."

Still shaken, Georgina made her way into the hallway a few minutes later, where she again crossed paths with Bullock.

"Wanna take the night off rookie?"

Somehow Bullock managed to combine sounding patronizing with sounding worried, and Georgina thought to herself that he was probably the only person in the world who could pull off that combo.

"No," she said, with a determination that seemed to surprise Bullock,

"I want to tear this place apart. There is no way he lived here this entire time and didn't leave some kind of trail, and we're damn well going to find it."

To her surprise, Bullock grinned.

"I like where your head's at."

* * *

The following night Jim Gordon sat alone in his office at Gotham's City Hall. On the desk in front of him was a plastic evidence bag sealed with red tape, half a bottle of Jim Beam along with a tumbler with half its contents remaining, and a cell phone.

Gordon's eyes travelled slowly from one item to the next until they rested on the phone. He eyed it suspiciously, as if he was waiting for it to read his mind and start to ring. Another beat, nothing happened… With a sigh, Gordon reached for the tumbler, downed the rest of the contents, and pressed a button on the phone.

Even when he knew it was coming, the rasping voice on the other end still made him shudder, although it didn't take him more than a second to compose himself and utter the crucial words.

"I have new info on our friend Mr. Lawton. One of my detectives got a lead off of a contact on the street, which lead to an apartment building uptown… We tore the place apart and found his hit list. Almost got him too, but he slipped through the net… Icy son of a bitch…"

There was a pause, and although nothing was said, Gordon felt as if the creature on the other end blamed him for letting Lawton get away, but he wasn't sure if it was truly the feelings of the Batman, or the fact that he blamed himself for letting Lawton slip.

"Who's on the list?"

"A couple of lawyers from private firms, as well as the Assistant District Attorneys and the District Attorney, one we haven't been able to identify, me…and you."

"We've both been on his list before." The voice concluded.

"Yeah, but we're playing the odds, don't you think? Second time lucky might not happen this time…"

"Have you warned the lawyers?"

"Of course I have… All of them accepted police protection, thank god, although I'm not sure how much good that'll do, considering who we're dealing with. But it's the best I've got… I'm more worried about the poor soul I can't offer anything…"

"You haven't been able to track the person down?"

"Nothing to go on. All except one were listed by name, but in the third spot all that's written is an alias. The Queen of Hearts…

On his side of the connection, Bruce's mind was reeling, and he had to focus intently not to slip out of character.

"I really wish I could help, " Gordon continued,

"But I have no idea who this is."

The voice on the other end betrayed no emotion, but the words spoke for themselves.

"I do."


	11. Queen's Gambit

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all other associated characters are the property of DC Comics. The original characters, Connie Tate and some of her family members, colleagues and friends, are my creation and belong to me.  
**Author's Note:** As always, reviews make my day (and sometimes my week and month), so if you've got comments - good or bad - feel free to review or pm me. This chapter has been beta'ed, but I've made some small changes to the text after I got it back from Mia (who's on beta duty, as usual) so if you see any indiscrepancies or mistakes, let me know and I'll get it fixed. Enjoy!

* * *

Two days later, two more names had been crossed off Floyd Lawton's list in blood. Early one Friday morning, officers from the 15th precinct were called to a house in the Gotham Palisades. The owner, Oliver Steel, and his wife, Jill Madison had been found dead by their housekeeper. While his partner struggled to get a coherent explanation of events from the distraught maid, Officer Andrew Kelly dialed the number to the MCU. He had been inside, and although there weren't much blood, and virtually no signs of a struggle or any other violence, there was something in the air that told of cold calculation and bloodlust. He hadn't been to any of the previous Floyd Lawton crime scenes, only heard tell of them from other officers, but there was something that gave him the feeling that he might have arrived in one now. So, after securing the scene and calling all the usual people, the coroner, the detectives in charge and the crime scene unit, he had also picked up the phone to call Josie MacDonald in Major Case. When her no-nonsense voice answered the phone, he said:

"Hey, Jo, it's Andy. I'm on a call-out in the Palisades. You need to see this… And hurry up, because I have a feeling it won't be long before the press shows up."

About an hour later Josie MacDonald and Georgina Reed pulled up to the sealed-off house in an unmarked police car. Judging by the number of press people pushing against the makeshift barriers outside, they could just as well have pulled up in a patrol car with all the lights and sirens flashing. It wouldn't have made any difference.

Josie killed the ignition and turned to Georgina in the front passenger seat.

"Listen Gina, a couple of things before I let you get out of the car. Those press people are vultures of the worst kind, don't give them _anything_. Just walk, keep your eyes on where you're going and keep your mouth shut. You got that?"

Georgina met Josie's gaze and nodded.

"Good." Josie continued, before adding, more to herself than to Georgina:

"Damn. I knew we wouldn't be able to keep this case quiet forever. Still, this is going to complicate the hell out of things for us… They're going to dig up every little detail they can get their hands on, and then make up the rest. That means that in about another hour we'll be dealing with concerned citizens who think they're seeing Floyd Lawton everywhere, instead of actually trying to find the guy."

Josie sighed, and nodded an 'okay' to Georgina, before both opened their car doors and got out.

* * *

It had been a long night, another one of many. He'd been on the move since dusk, alternately keeping an eye on all of the people still on Floyd Lawton's to-do list. But, even with all his talents, he couldn't be five places at once, a sad fact that had led to the loss of another two lives. He had to admit that it was uncomfortable to think about all the people touched by the deaths he had been unable to prevent, of all the lives that were now changed forever. And, although he struggled harder to admit it, it was even more uncomfortable to think about the fact that Connie Tate was still on the list. Because he was certain that the Queen of Hearts, the only card of a different suit than spades on the list, was Connie. Talia probably wanted to eliminate what she saw as the competition.

This wasn't going to be easy. Connie was the only one who had not yet been informed of the threat against her life, because the police didn't know who she was. He could inform them, of course, but Floyd Lawton had already proved that he had no problem getting past police protection. Because of this Bruce found it hard to be objective, even though he had realized a long time ago that that kind of compassion could one day be his undoing. But even with that hard-earned knowledge, he could not bring himself to sacrifice Connie for the sake of his own integrity. He loved her too much…cared to deeply. He had come to realize, in the time they had spent apart, that she had changed something in him. He could pinpoint exactly what it was, but something about him was different. The victims he fought for now had a face. In some cases it was hardly visible, whilst in others he could see it clearly, and sometimes found himself thinking 'thank god it wasn't her'.

As he applied the final adjustment to his tie that morning, he didn't really have a plan, something Alfred was quick to point out.

"Surely you don't expect the young woman to follow your lead without argument, Master Wayne. You really should know her better than that by now…"

"I do, Alfred, and I don't care if she argues. I'll brave it, if it means she's safer from Floyd Lawton."

"You intend to hold her against her will, Sir?"

Alfred actually sounded rather shocked.

"If it comes to that, yes. Are you surprised, Alfred?" Bruce asked calmly.

"I am, Sir. That you would even consider robbing someone you claim to care about of their freedom…"

"I don't have many choices left in the matter, Alfred. You've seen how cold-blooded and effective Lawton is… if I don't act now, Connie will soon be in the morgue along with eight other people, she'll be another one in a long line of people who I have been unable to protect…"

Bruce stopped, noticing that somehow his voice had risen in pitch and volume, betraying, of course, what Alfred already knew. That he had feelings for Connie beyond what he had admitted to the world, and to her.

With a sigh he regained control, and finished:

"And I can't let that happen. If she argues…if she fights…if I have to betray my principles…if she never wants to see me again… it will be worth it, just to know that I've kept her alive."

Alfred shook his head in dismay.

"If you love her as much as your actions dictate, you should tell her the truth."

Bruce looked up at that, then turned around to meet Alfred's gaze. After a moment of consideration he shook his head.

"As much as I would like to, that would mean placing an awful burden on her shoulders… She would look back and remember the things I've done and see them from an entirely different perspective. I couldn't ask her to do that…"

"And yet, sir, you ask her to trust you blindly with her life, to protect her from a threat she does not know, nor have any cause to believe in."

* * *

At Wayne Enterprises the day had progressed considerably more ordinary, the definition of that particular adjective being subjective as always, at least when it came to the corporations Research and Development facilities. It was an uncommonly slow day for most of the R&D employees, mainly because of lack of supplies, and various pieces of malfunctioning equipment. They had started off enthusiastically trying to fix what was broken, until Kevin managed to severely singe his eyebrows. After that their enthusiasm had waned considerably, and their attempts had instead morphed into a rather loud discussion about how ridiculous Kevin looked with parts of his eyebrows missing. For a short while, Connie had tried to be the boss she was paid to be, and get everyone assigned to alternate work that didn't require use of equipment they didn't have, but when she heard Kevin fret about the fact that he would be forced to go on a first date without full eyebrows and the roaring laughter that followed his exclamation, she gave up.

Settling in an available chair with a sigh, she stretched out her legs, resting her converse-wearing feet on the edge of a desk. The shoes, combined with the rest of her outfit, slouchy dark boyfriend jeans and long-sleeved teal sweater, made her look youthful and nothing like one would expect a department head at Wayne Enterprises to look. But then again, this was a relaxed day for her, with no meetings to attend, and she was confident that she knew how to dress the part when necessary. But now she was far too busy being amused by her colleagues, and she couldn't help but chuckle when Damien, in an effort to cheer up Kevin, said:

"Don't worry, mate. If she's okay with being seen with you like that, she's a keeper for sure."

At which point Kevin picked up a circuit board and threw it, with surprising accuracy, in Damien's direction. The projectile missed its target however, and Damien merely shrugged it off, asking with mock surprise:

"Now what did that circuit board ever do to you?"

Kevin's face was becoming flushed, and Damien grinned, knowing that he now had his friend exactly where he wanted him. But there was no further altercation between the two of them, because both of them now noticed the surprised expressions on everybody else's faces, and concluded that the expressions couldn't be on their account.

Connie, who was sitting with her back to the door, noticed it too, and turned around automatically to see if the source of the surprise could be behind her.

It was.

In the doorway, looking first down at the circuit board on the floor next to him, and then up at the group, was Bruce Wayne.

Connie wasn't knocked off balance for more than a split second. Gently she took her feet off the desk, straightened and turned halfway around in her chair to face him properly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne." She said pleasantly.

"Good afternoon, Miss Tate." He replied, and he could see a smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the use of such a polite address. But sadly, he hadn't come to the office just to make her smile, and he suspected that when he revealed his true intentions the smile would quickly disappear from her face. Still, he had made up his mind that that was worth the risk.

"A word in private, if you wouldn't mind?"

The words came in the most suave manner he could muster without sounding overly conscious of himself, in an effort to play up to the expectations that her colleagues undoubtedly nurtured of their boss being an incorrigible philanderer. Her eyes betrayed that the sudden change in tone had her stunned for a moment, but she quickly recovered and replied matter-of-factly:

"Of course."

She stood and followed him out into the hallway. Once they were out of earshot of the R&D offices, she said:

"You know, you really shouldn't have asked like that. Poor Kevin is probably in there right now thinking he's going to lose his job."

He turned to see her gesture back towards the offices, a half smile on her face that quickly vanished once she saw the look in his eyes.

"What's the matter? You're not going to ask me to fire him, are you, because that's not going to happen, even if he's got a crappy aim. He's one of our best engineers, and…"

He held up a hand to stop her.

"I'm not going to have you fire him. You know I don't meddle in how Lucius runs things."

The words came out slightly angrier than he had meant them to, and he saw her stop and hesitate, eyeing him with sudden…could it be suspicion?

"Then…why did you come?"

She was definitely suspicious now, and he couldn't really understand why. He was fairly certain that he hadn't acted in a way that could alarm her…unless she was worried about something else.

The thought that she might be on to him had been in his mind for a while. She was a rather observant woman, one who noticed things but who did not necessarily make the connections unless something intrigued her and made her want to investigate further. He had a feeling that the Batman was something that would intrigue her, but up until then he hadn't thought to worry that she might actually discover something that could reveal him. He had been too busy worrying about Talia, and Floyd Lawton. Now he worried about the skepticism on Connie Tate's face.

He turned back to face her properly, and said, with what he judged to be a suitably casual voice:

"I'm here for you, of course."

"That's hardly a given." She countered, her voice losing some of its charm, although it was still not unfriendly.

"Connie… I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, and…"

She held up a hand to stop him.

"Save it…I don't care about your apologies. What do you want?"

He surveyed her for a moment, and then answered:

"Walk with me."

She looked as though she was about to refuse, but then she seemingly changed her mind, because after a brief pause she followed him.

He led her through the corridors of Wayne Enterprises, down through the floors and into an underground parking structure. But as they stepped out into yellow gleam of the artificial lighting, she stopped.

"I'm not walking with you any further unless you tell me what's going on."

It was clear from her voice that the term was nonnegotiable, so he reluctantly stopped and turned towards her again.

"Did you see the news today?"

"The news? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Did you see them or not?"

"I caught a glimpse earlier, before Kevin set his eyebrows on fire… Why?"

He waited for a moment before answering, giving her time to replay the headlines in her mind.

"The murders in the Palisades?" She asked, having apparently come to the conclusion that that was the only news story validating such a surprising visit.

He nodded in response, but said nothing.

"Sure, I heard about it…but what's that got to do with me?" She asked, seeming genuinely shocked that he could even think there was a connection.

"I think you might be in danger."

She snorted involuntarily, and he heard her mutter 'oh, please' under her breath.

"Listen, I know it sounds weird, but…" he continued, but she interrupted him before he had a chance to say anything further.

"Weird? This isn't weird, Bruce. I don't know what the hell it is, but it's far beyond weird!"

"Please listen; things aren't what you think…"

"Well, what in the blazes am I supposed to think, Bruce? We're through, you made that pretty clear, and that's fine…quite frankly, I'm better than that. But now you come running with some bullshit story about how I'm in danger, and I'm supposed to just throw myself into your arms and have you rescue me, is that it? Come on, what kind of a desperate idiot do you take me for, anyway."

"Connie…"

She had been about to turn away, but the way he spoke her name, the force with which he pronounced it, made her stop.

"I know you're better than that. And you deserved better from me… But you have to believe me when I say that I didn't set out to wrong you. Nothing more happened between Talia and me that night…"

"So you know her? You two _do_ have a history?"

He was about to answer, when she interrupted again.

"You know what, it doesn't matter…"

She looked like she was about to say more, but now it was his turn to cut her off.

"It does matter. And yes, I do know her…and we do have a history, but it was years ago, before I came back to Gotham. I didn't know she would be at the party that night. She wasn't invited… I didn't even know she was in town. I hadn't seen her for two or three years, for god's sake."

She was silent for a while, and although her voice was calmer when she spoke again, it was far from being friendly.

"I'm supposed to believe this? That some woman that you haven't seen for three years suddenly appears one night at a party you're throwing and decided to rekindle your romance in front of the whole crowd? Jesus, first there's a killer on my heels and now this…"

She sighed, and looked at him again, studying him, as if to see if she could separate truth from lies by looking at him. After a while she spoke again.

"I don't get it… what happened to you? Last year you were this incredibly charming, sweet, intelligent man hiding, very skillfully I might add, under a playboy exterior that I thought I was fortunate to see past, but now… Now you're bullshitting me left, right and center, and worse you're actually expecting me to buy into it! It's like the man I fell in love with last year disappeared and that goddamn playboy is all that's left…"

Her voice softened as she spoke, and she looked at him, expecting, or rather hoping for an answer. Seeing this, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to give her one. She was right though; everything she said was true, at least seen from her perspective, which of course was what she had to go on. He saw things a bit differently, but he had begun to realize that he had treated her much worse than she deserved, that he should have taken Alfred's advice and apologized for the scene he'd caused at the Manor much earlier than he had…that that earlier apology might have eased his job now, if it had been given. As things stood now, there was only one thing he could do. Drop the act.

Though not all of it. This wasn't the time to tell Connie the whole truth, he wasn't sure if there ever was going to be a time for that, but he would definitely be better off dropping Bruce Wayne's playboy exterior. So, when he addressed her again, it was in a voice that did not make any attempt to mask or excuse his actions, and it was, without Connie realizing it, as far as he would go towards complete surrender.

"What do you want from me, Connie? I don't know what to say… I know 'sorry' isn't going to cut it, and I understand that, more than you know. Look, I've been a complete ass, and I know that, but I'm asking you to trust me this one time, for your own safety."

Connie shook her head and flung her arms out in a gesture of disbelief.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Have I ever lied to you?" Bruce asked in response.

_Yes, _he thought. _More than you could possibly know. _But hopefully, Connie hadn't realized the extent of the lies he had told her.

She did seem to grapple with herself, torn between trust and…he didn't know what else. Suspicion, perhaps? Or doubt?

After a moment of consideration, she relented, and her voice was practically a whisper when she finally said:

"No."

"Then trust me. Listen, those murders in the Palisades, those weren't the first. They're only the first ones the press has gotten wind of. This guy…he's done it before, and he's good. There's no forensic trail after him, nothing…"

He saw how she took a deep breath to calm herself, and he thought he could hear a slight tremble in her voice when she spoke.

"You're telling me…that I'm being targeted by a serial killer? Why? Why me? Why is he after me? And how the hell do you know all this?"

"I have some…connections in law enforcement. As for why…I don't know."

_Again, another lie_, he thought, but he continued unfettered.

"Please, Connie. Get in the car with me; I'll take you to the Penthouse. He'll have more trouble tracking you down if you're not where you usually are."

"You mean…you think this guy has been stalking me?"

It seemed realization had begun to dawn on her, and the fact that someone might have been stalking her again, like Edward Nashton had done the previous year, only magnified the shock.

Upon seeing the shocked, helpless look on her face, a part of Bruce wanted to tell another lie and say that that was probably not the case, but as much as it hurt him to see her like that, he opted for the truth. She needed to know. And there was probably a better chance of her accepting his help if she was scared for her life.

"It's a good chance that he might have been. The police think he learns most of his victims' habits, so he knows when and how to gain access to them without arousing suspicion."

Even in the glaring yellow light of the parking structure he could see that her face had gone pale, and although it wasn't appropriate, he felt relieved. He'd managed to get through to her. Carefully, not to scare her further, he stepped forward and gently took her hand.

"Please, Connie, get in the car."

She looked startled that he had approached her, but their eyes met, and she nodded weakly, letting him take her hand and lead her to the passenger side door of his grey Lamborghini Murcielago.

As he sat in the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition and felt the engine roar to life, he felt instantly calmer. She would be safe now; he would make sure of it. Talia would not get the satisfaction of having the life of one of his lovers on her conscience.

* * *

It was dusk before the crime scene techs had robbed the Steel-Madison house of all its secrets. Georgina might not have any physical evidence as to who killed the couple, but she now knew that Oliver Steel had some sketchy connections to the Gotham mafia, and that Jill Madison probably had had an affair with one of her assistants. As far as the crime itself went, it was a pretty safe bet that neither the mob nor the scolded lover had committed the crime. Crimes of passion usually left a trace, and in the Steel-Madison house there were none of substance.

Georgina found Josie out back, sitting on a broad set of stairs leading from the back porch down to the adhering garden.

"Can you believe how much time we've spent on this case lately, and just how little we actually have to show for it?" Georgina began, while she made her way over and sat down on the step above Josie.

"I mean, there is _nothing _here…"

"Tell me about it," Josie said, effectively ending that particular branch of conversation. They sat there in silence for a while, until Josie's phone rang, and she stood and walked a few steps away to answer it.

Georgina only caught parts of the conversation, and that wasn't exactly much to go on, as Josie mostly listened and only occasionally contributed an acknowledgement to show she understood. However, as the conversation drew to a close Georgina caught the words:

"Yeah, ok, I'll send Gina over to check it out…"

Josie had sometimes taken to calling her Gina, probably to save time, so Georgina surmised that she was probably being referred to. But what was she being sent to check out? Did they have a lead she didn't know about?

She would soon have her answer, because Josie quickly hung up and turned back to her.

"I just got a call from Gordon; he's having some issues getting in touch with the detail assigned to A.D.A Shelby… I know a couple of those guys have been known to, let's say, _neglect_ their duties, so I said I'd send you over to check on things. It shouldn't be too much trouble, just make sure Shelby is still alive, and call me if it turns out that the guys on duty have made a run for it, and I'll arrange for backup. That okay with you?"

Georgina nodded.

"Yeah, sure…"

Josie surveyed her for a minute, then stuck a hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a set of keys.

"Here, take the car…"

Georgina nodded again, and turned to leave. Just as she was about to step back into the house, Josie called out from behind her:

"Hey, Gina! Be careful… and if you need help, call for backup, don't do anything stupid."

Georgina turned back, gave Josie a careful smile and nodded that she had understood the instructions, before she headed back through the house and to the car out front.

Assistant District Attorney Quinn Shelby had been employed after the death of Harvey Dent, brought in to assist functioning District Attorney Alexandra Harper in continuing Dent's work against crime and corruption. She had quickly gained a reputation for being an effective, no-nonsense A.D.A, but apart from that her short career in the District Attorney's office had been unremarkable.

Georgina knew as much, although she didn't always bother to keep up with the actions of that particular brand of law enforcement. She was, however, a little bit shocked when she pulled up to the brownstone building, and noticed that the police car that was supposed to be parked out front wasn't there. Josie had warned her, of course, and she knew she shouldn't really be surprised – corruption was still plentiful among law enforcement officers in the city. But still…to leave your post when you had someone depending on you for their safety… It seemed odd to Georgina that someone would risk having a person's life on their conscience, for just a little extra cash.

She shook her head slightly to herself. It wasn't her business to judge. In this city everyone had a price. She parked her car, got out and crossed the street. The neighborhood was quiet, except for the normal sounds: TVs on, music blasting, laughter, arguments, a dog barking…all normal city sounds. Quinn Shelby's house was quiet, the lights were on, but no sound reached the street from inside. Georgina tired to convince herself that that didn't have to mean anything, but she couldn't help but be on her guard as she walked up the stone steps to knock on the door.

After knocking three times she listened intently for sounds, but her ears registered nothing. She waited for a few seconds before knocking again, this time accompanied by the words:

"Ms. Shelby? This is the police; would you open the door, please?"

Georgina waited another moment. No one answered, and she still couldn't hear any footsteps or other sounds that indicated that someone was on their way to answer the door. She drew a sharp breath. The feeling that something was wrong was becoming harder and harder to fight. Her gut feeling was very insistent that something seemed way off.

Carefully, she placed a hand on the door knob and twisted. The door opened without a fuss to reveal a narrow hallway. Still no sound. Georgina tried again.

"Ms. Shelby, this is Officer Reed from Major Case… Are you in here?"

Georgina hesitantly placed her hand on the holster of her gun, then let her fingers carefully grip the handle before carefully pulling the gun up, clear of the holster's thumb break. Gripping the gun with both hands, stretching her arms out in front of her, she began to make her way into the house.

First on her left was a kitchen. There was a light on, there were unwashed dishes in the sink, a used frying pan set aside on the stove, but the room was empty. Satisfied, she moved slowly down the hall, until she reached a staircase leading to a second floor. Deciding that the second floor would have to wait, she kept going inward, soon reaching the end of the hallway, and the choice of three more doors. One led to a bathroom, no one was inside, but there was makeup and various toiletries on the shelves, and fresh towels hanging from the hooks. Fair bet that the bathroom had been in use that morning. Moving on, she carefully opened the second door. Beyond it was a living room, that too empty, like the other rooms she had been in, but it seemed lived in, like the rest of the house. It had a youthful, bright style, indicative of a politically conscious woman with a demanding job. Which, Georgina had to admit, seemed like a pretty good description of the tenant, Quinn Shelby.

Satisfied that there was no one in the living room, Georgina closed the door, and entered the third and final door. It turned out to lead to a study with a panoramic view of the garden outside. On her right as she entered, was a desk with a laptop and several stacks of paper, undoubtedly pertaining to some of Gotham's criminals. But there was still no sign of Quinn Shelby.

Georgina relaxed a little, and took a moment to look around. The office was bright like the living room, white walls with darker furnishings. The desk was massive, made of some sort of aged hardwood, and had probably been handed down from a grandmother or the like. On the walls were pictures of family and friends, as well as some colorful nature photographs.

She was about to conclude her search downstairs and head back to the hallway and check out the second floor when something on the floor made her gasp. She had noticed two feet, still in nude stockings, poking out from the side behind the large desk. Still unsure of that what she was seeing was even real; Georgina hurried closer, re-holstering her weapon as she went. What she saw caused her to clamp a hand to her mouth in a subconscious effort not to scream in exasperation and despair.

On the floor in front of her lay the sprawled, lifeless body of A.D.A Quinn Shelby. Georgina hurried forward on impulse, taking care not to step on the woman, to see if she could still be alive. Frantic, she knelt down and placed two fingers on the woman's neck to search for a pulse, but to no avail.

Then, quickly, before she could move a muscle, Georgina felt something cold and metallic being pressed against the back of her neck, and a steely voice from behind her confirmed what she already knew.

"She's dead."

Georgina suddenly became very aware of her body, how she was silently trembling, and how the cool metal felt against her neck. She wondered if this was to be her final moments of existence. After a moment that seemed to go on forever, the voice came again, commanding this time.

"Up. _Slowly_."

Georgina obeyed without a second thought, and as she stood she was aware of movement behind her, and she could feel the brush of a hand against her side as her weapon was drawn from its holster and disappeared from reach.

"Are you carrying a spare?" Asked the voice matter-of-factly.

She was too shocked and too scared to even think about lying, so she shook her head slightly and whispered a terrified:

"No."

"Wouldn't have done you much good if you did." Was the voice's casual reply.

"Turn around."

Slowly, Georgina turned around to face the voice. The first thing she saw was the gun, a 9mm semi-automatic, but she couldn't be sure of the brand. It might be a custom job, because she could see engravings she didn't recognize as part of any major brand design. Her eyes followed the barrel of the gun backwards, towards the hand wrapped confidently around the grip, and on. She saw a veined, muscular arm, bare from wrist to elbow, and otherwise covered in the fabric of a black shirt. Beyond the gun, the hand and the arm she saw the features of a handsome, chiseled but cold face, with deep set, steel blue eyes and close-cropped dark hair.

"Why are you doing this?"

The question escaped her lips before she could stop it, and Georgina was immediately afraid of what it would mean for her.

He snorted, and his answer included a question of its own.

"Why do you chase after criminals all day long? Because it's your job, you get paid to do it… I'm no different. This isn't personal, Shelby was on my list."

As he spoke, he relaxed a little, and Georgina was quick to take advantage of it. She aimed the punch at his right shoulder, where she knew there was already a gunshot wound which wasn't done healing.

A surprised yell told her that the punch had found its mark, but she didn't have the skill to fight off the sheer strength he unleashed in response. With swift, practiced moves, he spun her around and threw her to the floor so hard that it knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, Georgina fought to crawl back on her feet, but was quickly forced flat on the floor by the weight of a knee to the back.

"She's a feisty one…" His voice remarked with a laugh.

"That's alright, I can appreciate that."

The sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back made Georgina freeze. She didn't even dare to breathe.

"You're not on my list, hotshot, but I promise you, if you move an inch in the next fifteen minutes, you will be. And you don't want to be on my list, kid."

In what seemed like a practiced move, he unlocked the clasp of her wrist watch and pulled it off, leaning forward, against her, and placing it on the floor in front of her so she could see it clearly.

The dark, husky voice that in that moment seemed to be the voice of the shadows, whispered in her ear a final reminder and warning.

"Fifteen minutes."

In two minutes he was gone, Georgina was sure of it. And despite that she did not dare to move. She laid deadly still on the floor, listening to the sounds of the house and the neighborhood, sounds that now seemed to be magnified. Her eyes were fixed on her wristwatch, the hands on the watch moving painstakingly slow, two minutes, two minutes fifteen seconds, two minutes thirty, three minutes…

Fifteen minutes felt like forever. And in the space of those fifteen minutes Georgina experienced a rush of many very different emotions, from fear, to frustration to humiliation and anger. When the fifteen minutes were finally up, she jumped to her feet in a surge of anger, quickly retrieving her gun, which had been placed in the center of the desk, and pulling her cell phone from her pocket, pressing one of the speed dial buttons.

"Josie, it's me… Shelby's dead. He was here…Lawton was here, fifteen minutes ago tops."

Suddenly breathless, Georgina looked around the room, her eyes resting on Quinn Shelby's body, and a tear appeared in the corner of her eye.

* * *

Dusk had turned to night, and Connie found herself looking out on a spectacular view of the Gotham City skyline, lost in her thoughts. She couldn't help but think back to the first time she had found herself invited to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. At first she had been beyond skeptic, but she had succumbed to his persuasion and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Now, she wasn't so sure he deserved it any longer.

After the first shock of the news regarding a potential new stalker and a murder threat, Connie had begun to think that there was something suspicious about the whole thing. If the police knew about this supposed serial assassin, then why wasn't she under their protection? And what on earth made Bruce think for even a second that he had any chance of protecting her if the killer should strike?

She was growing increasingly frustrated by the fact that there seemed to be something, some form of knowledge that would explain everything, hidden just beyond her reach. That, and by the fact that although she had her suspicions she lacked any kind of real evidence, which meant that she couldn't confront Bruce, or Lucius for that matter, without risking appearing paranoid and somewhat crazy.

Connie wasn't sure she was ready to risk revealing what she thought she knew to either of them. It wasn't much, after all, just some minor inconsistencies that might belong in a bigger picture. She knew one thing for sure; Lucius Fox was somehow affiliated with the Batman. The amount of prototypes from the Applied Sciences Division that the Batman was in possession of was proof enough, and Lucius hadn't really seen fit to deny it when she had confronted him about Batman being in possession of her one-of-a-kind tracking device. But that wasn't enough to prove that Batman and Bruce Wayne were the same person.

Then there was the fact that Bruce Wayne and Batman appeared to be about the same height and build. But that was subjective, and even if she was fairly certain of it, it was hardly conclusive, and not much in terms of proof.

Connie thought about her web search, and the following trip to the library. Bruce Wayne's disappearance and return was mysterious, but with nothing except a gossip blog and a poorly executed encyclopedia to back up her theory, she was very much back where she had started.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

The sound of his voice made her snap back to reality, and as a reflex she turned her head towards him and smiled slightly.

"You'd waste your money."

"That wouldn't be anything new, would it?"

She couldn't think of a reply and remained silent. He did the same, but after a long moment he moved closer, and sat down opposite her, blocking the view.

"What's the matter?"

His eyes mirrored sincerity, and although she had tried hard that day not to feel anything, his eyes had the ability to pull her in, and now, with him sitting there in front of her, she couldn't help but feel.

"I don't understand this…us. What are we doing here, what kind of game are we playing?"

"I don't follow…"

"I can't go back… I get the feeling that you want us to go back to the way we were, before that party. I can't go back…"

"Okay…then we're not going back."

"Then what the hell are we doing?"

He was surprised at how tired her voice sounded all of a sudden. He didn't know if it was because she was having a bad day or something else, but the lack of a smile lurking in her glance made her appear older. She wasn't looking at him, but over his shoulder and out on the city.

"I never meant for things to be like this…" He said, surprised at the sincerity in his own words.

Her eyes focused on him, suddenly staring right into his own. A flicker of the spark he had come to love so much ignited, and a slight smile crept up on her lips.

"I know…"

Slowly, he extended a hand to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes momentarily at his touch, and he was struck by how beautiful she was. There was something ethereal about her face, a rare feature that transcended fashion and glamour.

"We could give it another chance." He suggested.

Her eyes fixed on him again, and he saw tears appearing in them.

"I can't do that, Bruce. I'm sorry…"

She paused for a moment and looked away, before asking:

"Did I ever tell you about David, my ex?"

She didn't wait for him to respond, but continued:

"We were engaged… I was going to marry him. Until he cheated on me."

Looking up at him, almost apologetically, she finished:

"His…betrayal, it was worse, much worse than yours. But after I threw away the ring he gave me, I promised myself that I'd never let any man subject me to something like that again."

"It's just… I don't know where I have you. One minute you're wonderful, clever and polite and a gentleman through and through, while in the next you're the playboy again. I only fell in love with one of those two, and it wasn't the playboy."

He let the slightest shadow of a smile appear on his face, in an effort to show that he wasn't angry with her, and cupped her face in his hands, pulling her slightly towards him, resting his forehead against hers.

"I guess…" Connie began, trying not to choke on her own tears.

"I guess what I'm saying is that if we're even going to have a ghost of a chance, you have to make up your mind…"

She swallowed and pulled away from him.

"You have enough money to be the maverick playboy for the rest of your life, Bruce. But I think that if you decided to let him go, you would become a wonderful, truly great man. The kind of man I'd want to be with."

He was just about to kiss her again, and try to find some words that would reassure her that if given a second chance, he could change, when his phone rang. He thought seriously about just hanging up, and he would have done if it hadn't been for the fact that he recognized the number as Commissioner Gordon's.

"I have to take this…"

Connie nodded in understanding and let him go, but her eyes followed him until he disappeared from the room.

An hour or so later, Connie was still sitting on the same sofa, looking out over the same skyline, but this time she did so without Bruce's company. She was, however, about to discover that she wasn't alone.

"Is there something you require, Miss Tate?"

Connie turned to see Alfred Pennyworth emerge from the shadowed entryway.

"No, thank you, Alfred."

"Nothing? Not even some peace of mind?"

His voice took on a less formal, much kinder tone as he spoke, and his eyes met Connie's. She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, before replying:

"Well, if you've got some of that hidden up your sleeve…"

Alfred smiled as he approached, and sat down on the edge of the seat next to her.

"Never underestimate the influence of a manservant, Miss Tate." He countered, before continuing:

"You've had a long day."

Connie nodded her agreement.

"You could say that."

"Are you worried?"

"About being assassinated? Oddly, no…"

Alfred smiled again, just as kindly, before saying:

"Then, perhaps something a little closer to home?"

The gentle humor carefully hidden just below the surface of those words did not escape Connie, and she smiled in return.

"Perhaps… "

She hesitated for a while, seemingly measuring her words before continuing.

"I don't understand him…it's as if I'm dealing with two different people, never knowing which one I'll get. I don't… I don't know if I can trust him. I have this feeling that…that he's keeping something from me."

Her eyes focused on him, perhaps trying to gauge his reaction, but she found nothing in his expression that could give anything away.

"Master Wayne is a man of many passions, and of many talents, I will grant you that. Because of it, he will come across as rash and distant at times, but he is also uncompromising in his loyalty."

"I'm not questioning his loyalty." She replied darkly.

"There is a part of me that really wants to believe that he is every inch the wonderful man I think he can be. But there's another part that asks how I can trust a man who hasn't been honest with me."

Alfred didn't respond. As much as he did not like to admit it, Connie had a point.


	12. Breaking and Entering

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all other recognizable characters belong to DC Comics. I own only those characters that I've created myself, and I write this story for fun, not for profit.  
**Author's Note:** I'm so sorry for the lack of updates, but a lot of things have been going on in my life that has left me with little time and energy for writing. I hope to remedy this when I finish my exams, but like always, I'm not promising anything. I would like to finish this story in a timely fashion, though... as you will see, things are starting to heat up in Gotham, and I've started working on tying up all the ends. Estimating how many chapters are left is a dangerous game, at least for me (I never get it right. Ever), but I think maybe two or three chapters more, and I should have managed to tie everything together.  
I want you to know that I appreciate you taking the time to read my story, even if I don't update as frequently as I (and some of you) would like. Your comments and reviews mean a great deal to me, and it's a great motivation for me to keep writing and to keep developing my plot and my characters. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Bruce exited, and kept walking a good distance down the hall before slipping into an empty room. As he pressed the 'answer' button on his phone, his voice fell into the familiar, deep, sometimes almost growling pitch that was Batman's way of speaking.

"Problems?"

"Hell yeah, I've got problems!" Gordon almost shouted on the other end.

"Lawton's just taken out another victim!"

There was silence for a moment, and he could hear how Gordon took a breath in order to calm himself.

"A.D.A Shelby is dead," he continued, in a calmer voice.

"I sent one of my officers over to check on Shelby… her detail bailed, so I sent Reed from Major Case over to make sure she was still alive. Reed found her body. And Lawton."

"Lawton?"

Bruce reminded himself not to get too carried away. Just because Lawton had been spotted did not mean he would be easily captured.

"Yeah, he was still there. Forced Reed to the ground and threatened to put her on his to-do list if she didn't give him enough time to make his escape before raising the alarm. Reed waited, obviously…"

"Obviously."

For the briefest of seconds, he caught himself wishing that Officer Reed had thrown caution to the wind and alerted her colleagues as soon as Lawton was out of earshot, but he soon reminded himself that doing so would be suicide on her account, and that he could hardly expect her, having been given a choice, to sacrifice her life. She was only human.

"Anything on his current whereabouts?" He asked, without much hope of a positive answer.

"Nothing." Answered Gordon grimly.

"The trail's gone cold…again. I've assigned additional people to the detail of the remaining people on his list…those I know the identity of. Any luck tracking down the Queen of Hearts?"

"She's safe." He replied, not without a certain satisfaction.

"Good."

He picked up on Gordon's hesitation on the other end of the line, but he didn't have to wait long to find out what had caused it.

"I've got every available officer on this case," Gordon began,

"But quite frankly, I'm not sure that's going to be enough."

There was a telling pause as both men seemed to consider their options, as well as trying to decipher from the silence what the other was thinking. Finally, it was Bruce's turn to break the silence.

"Understood, Commissioner."

Before Gordon could say anything more, Bruce broke the connection. For a moment, he remained motionless, staring down at the phone in his hand. He felt torn. As much as he wanted to assist Gordon in capturing Deadshot, he knew that Talia had to be his first priority. If the money stopped flowing, Floyd Lawton would stop killing. As chilling as it was, killing people was what he did for a living, and he was, without question, very good at his job.

There was a chance, however, that Talia had already paid Lawton for the deaths of the remaining people on the list, and although Bruce thought it unlikely, if that was the case Lawton would stop at nothing to fulfill his part of the deal. So, as well as having to make it clear to Talia that he would not tolerate her presence in Gotham, he would also have to find a way to freeze Lawton's bank account. The police had started working on that approach too, but it appeared that the FBI would rather hinder than help them with this case. As far as he knew, the FBI representatives had expressed some concerns about giving the GCPD access to highly confidential channels usually only used to counter terrorism, citing the large percentage of corruption on the force as their primary reason. Because of all the red tape involved, it would take Gotham PD weeks, if not months of negotiation to gain access through the appropriate channels. Time they didn't have.

Bruce wondered if there was a way to solve both problems simultaneously, taking care of Talia and freezing Floyd Lawton's bank accounts. He thought that there might be, but it would involve him putting his trust in someone else's skills in addition to his own.

* * *

Georgina was sitting on a low brick fence outside the brownstone building where Quinn Shelby had lived, shivering. It was a cold night, but that wasn't the only reason her body was trembling. She kept reliving the scene that had taken place inside the apartment earlier again and again, the images flashing in her mind in an endless loop, the accompanying emotions wreaking havoc, moving in the same cycle.

Some of the other officers, Josie included, had told her not to worry about it, that it was normal, and that she'd be fine if she only managed to see it through. But right then, Georgina wasn't so sure she could see anything through. In a way, this was a low, and as helpless as she'd ever felt, and for a woman who had grown accustomed to fending for herself from a young age, that was an alien feeling.

A part of her wished that she could just melt away, escape the feeling, apologetic glances of her colleagues when they passed her going in or out of the house, and become invisible. Even if she knew that her wish was impossible, she did the best she could not to draw attention to herself. Because of that, she was surprised when she felt a coat of some kind being placed over her shoulders. She turned to see who it was, and had to struggle not to let her jaw drop with amazement, when she saw that her guardian was none other than Harvey Bullock.

Temporarily stunned, she still managed to stutter a surprised 'thanks'. Bullock shook his head, saying.

"Don't thank me until you check the inner pocket."

Hesitantly, Georgina put her hand inside the coat and fumbled around. The coat was several sizes too big for her, and fit her like a tent, so she had to sort her way through the folds of fabric before she could find anything. After a minute or so, she found an opening in the lining, and inside her hand made contact with something cool and metallic. For a split second she froze, thinking of the feeling of a custom made 9mm semi-automatic against her neck, but she forced herself to grip the object and pulled it out.

A hip flask. And somehow she was smiling, because she realized that this was Harvey Bullock trying to be nice. It was far from politically correct, and probably not something most people would do, but then again Harvey wasn't most people. She looked up, and the two of them locked eyes for a moment, before he nodded carefully towards the bottle.

"Go on."

Georgina twisted the cap open. The content smelled sweet and oaky, like whiskey… like bourbon. Slowly, she brought the flask to her lips, tilted it back a little and braced for the impact. It came as soon as the liquor hit her tongue, sweet and strong, almost burning. She gulped it down, grimaced and twisted the cap back into place, cradling the flask in her hands.

"Good girl."

It actually sounded like Bullock meant it as praise.

"Now, let's go back in and find something to get this guy."

It took Georgina a couple of extra seconds to process what he had just said.

"I was just held at gunpoint inside that house!"

"And the ass that held the gun is still on the loose. So make sure you've got the tables turned the next time you see him."

Georgina eyed Bullock with a mixture of surprise and admiration. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, a fire that reminded of a much younger man, a man less jaded by the job and the city. And he made sense. Slowly, she got to her feet, receiving an approving nod from Bullock as she did so.

Taking a deep breath, Georgina turned towards the house, eyeing it with poorly masked apprehension. There was light in all the windows, but it didn't make the house any more welcoming, now that she knew what was inside. She shrugged off the trench coat and handed it back to Bullock, mouthing a near silent 'thanks', then straightened and looked up at the house again. Bullock was hovering at her left shoulder, obviously waiting for her to pluck up the courage to get back to work, and as strange as it seemed his presence felt reassuring. As she started walking she could hear him falling into step behind her.

* * *

As much as she wanted to appear calm and collected to the world, in this case represented by Bruce and Alfred, she was beginning to feel frustrated at being cooped up in the penthouse, especially now that Bruce had seemingly disappeared without as much as an excuse.

God, she wanted to slap that man sometimes. He was just so…frustrating. One minute he'd give her the impression that she was just his latest in a long line of toys, and then in the next he would tell her so earnestly how much he loved her. How was she supposed to sort through her own feelings when he couldn't make up his mind what kind of person he wanted to be? She liked, maybe even loved, one, but not the other. And then there was the feeling she had of a secret, of something hidden beneath the surface. There was something about Bruce Wayne she couldn't see, and she still wasn't sure if that was because there was nothing there, or because someone, maybe Bruce himself, didn't want her to see. And if the latter was the case, that went against his declaration of love, in her opinion.

Once again she found herself staring out over the city skyline. There was little to no escape from that view in Bruce Wayne's penthouse, the 360 degree view having been among the apartment's major selling points. She doubted that Bruce had even cared, at least not more than to think it would impress the people attending his prestigious parties.

She slid open the door to the terrace, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the wind on her face. Then, she stepped outside, letting the door slide shut behind her. The terrace was bare, it wasn't late enough in spring yet to warrant an extravagant outdoor party, and even if it had been, most of Bruce Wayne's parties were now held at the Manor. She wasn't sure if he even spent much time at the penthouse anymore, except of course when offering it as a safe haven for women who, for some reason, found themselves targeted by a top-class assassin.

Connie looked out over the skyline again. Somehow the city seemed more alive out here, more vibrant, even if there was only a sheet of glass separating her current view from what it had been inside. She wondered how it felt to be Bruce Wayne – always like this, on top of the world, without a care or a threat to sour his existence. She had to admit that it seemed like a fairytale, but it was a fairytale she wouldn't want to live in for more than a day or so.

She began to take one more step out onto the terrace, but in mid-step she was tackled by a creature from above, knocked easily to the ground and enveloped in the darkness of his cloak. When he stood moments later, taking the paralyzing darkness of the cloak with him, she lay sprawled on the black marble. She blinked to focus on his features, cast in sharp relief, hovering above her.

"Do you have to do that?"

"What?"

"I don't know, sneak up on me? Dive off rooftops and knock unsuspecting women to the ground? Whatever it is you're doing every time I see you."

He couldn't think of a suitable response. A retort of some sort would perhaps have been appropriate, but he couldn't let himself be brought back down to her level, no matter how much she tried to provoke a reaction from him. He was a man with a mission now, and no one could change that…not even her.

"I need your help. I know the man who's after you."

"Why am I not surprised? I hope he being after me isn't of your doing, because if it is…"

"Why would it be?"

She looked as if she wanted to say something harsh, but stopped herself, instead letting out a sigh and rising to a sitting position.

"God knows… every time you show up it's either murderers or lunatics. Or both."

He couldn't really argue with that, since it was an observation he had also made himself. The number of career criminals with an image to uphold that he had encountered since donning the cowl for the first time was a slightly alarming aspect of his crusade, but it was one he didn't have time to dwell deeper into at that moment. Cutting through to the point, he said:

"I need your help."

With a sudden, low thud, a slim, shiny, black computer landed in her lap. She looked up at him incredulously.

"Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot is a very skilled assassin, well-known throughout the criminal underworld, and as such, he has a very well paid job…"

He paused for a moment, waiting for the information to sink in, but to his surprise she showed no signs of understanding or shock. She was simply eyeing him with the same incredulous look that mixed suspicion with challenge. It was as if she dared him to try her patience.

"Did you steal this too?"

"What?"

"Oh please, I hope you don't actually think I'm stupid enough not to recognize my own work. I helped make this last year, as part of a government defense contract."

"Which makes you the perfect person to operate it. You know its limitations, as well as its advantages."

"So you did steal it."

"Why is that important?"

"Because either you stole it, which makes you a thief, and that doesn't really go well with the whole 'arbiter of justice' thing you've got going. If you didn't steal it, that means that my boss has begun handing out classified prototypes to a man in a cape and cowl, and quite frankly I'm not sure I like that possibility much better."

"You think I would compromise his loyalty?"

"So he has been helping you. No, I doubt you'd ever manage to compromise anything about Lucius Fox, but I'm worried that you'll be compromising me. My name is attached to a lot of classified things stored in the company vaults…and if someone else sees you with these things, if you leave something at a crime scene or lose something in an alley, and someone who's just a little bit curious and has just a little bit of brain and resources decides they're going to track down where it came from, it's going to come back to me. If an investor finds out I've created things, dangerous things, and allowed them to get into a vigilante's possession, I could easily lose my job. You're not exactly an accepted branch of law enforcement."

"I see your concern, but I can guarantee that my use of any inventions, yours or others, won't be traced back to their creators."

"Somehow that doesn't exactly put me at ease…"

"So be it."

"The fact that you're stealing someone else's hard work doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Being a thief is, in my case, the lesser of several evils."

"You have a very curious set of principles." She remarked, not without a trace of humor creeping back into her voice. He wondered whether or not she realized it herself.

"That may be, but they've kept me alive so far."

Both of them were silent, and Connie took the opportunity to take stock of the situation. If she said 'no', he would leave and she would still be stuck in a million dollar penthouse with a supposed killer on her heels and nothing she could do about it. If she said 'yes' the risks would undoubtedly be high. But it would most likely also be a challenge, and it could hopefully help to get Floyd Lawton off her back. After a long pause, she said:

"Okay. I'll help you. Just… just tell me what you need from me."

His voice betrayed no emotion, nothing to indicate he was either pleased or displeased with her decision.

"The police have been attempting, unsuccessfully, to track Lawton via his financial transactions."

"Why unsuccessfully?"

Her mood was about to shift, he could feel it. She had placed the laptop carefully on the ground and straightened, one leg was slightly crossed over the other, and she rested her arms on one knee, eyeing him intently.

"The FBI has been burying them in red tape, claiming that they won't divulge information that could jeopardize national security.

"Why am I not surprised to find that the FBI doesn't think a world-known assassin wreaking havoc isn't a threat to national security?"

"Floyd Lawton has currently limited himself to wreaking havoc in Gotham. Apparently that's not as significant to the FBI as what they know about some of his employers, or what they think they know. Someone high on the chain of command in the FBI obviously considers Gotham a lost cause…"

A dangerous gleam flashed in the dark eyes as he spoke the words, and she was surprised at how much emotion that one looked conveyed. She didn't know exactly why, but it scared her, and she decided not to dwell on what Gotham was, or was not. Instead, hoping to change the subject back to more practical matters, she asked:

"Which is where I come in, for some reason?"

He nodded.

"You have some skill with computers, and you don't have the…restrictions that the Gotham PD has."

There was a moment of silence, and she seemed to contemplate what he had just said.

"Are you asking me to hack into federal databases? Do you have _any_ idea what kind of protection those guys put on their networks?"

Another silence, which told her that he probably did know, and likely from personal experience at that.

"Even if I could get past the protection, I'd be screwed if someone caught me in there. I don't even know what they do to people caught hacking into their systems, I'd probably be dragged into a black car with tinted windows never to be seen or heard from again…"

"If I could guarantee your safety?"

"You couldn't." She said with finality. He said nothing to argue, but he eyed her with a gaze that said very clearly that he thought otherwise. She contemplated that for a minute, then she continued:

"But…_if _you somehow could, that would be at least somewhat intriguing."

Another pause, before Connie asked:

"Why aren't you doing this yourself?"

"Because even I can't be two places at once."

"So…while I'm tiptoeing around in the FBI data system, what exactly will you be doing?"

Something flashed in his eyes, something predatory, that told her she didn't really want to know the answer. And his silence made it clear as day. After an awkward moment, she answered her own question with a slightly sarcastic.

"I'm sorry I asked."

There was a peculiar mix of skepticism and daring in her eyes as she watched him, but she didn't say anything, so he continued giving her instruction.

"When you find something, contact James Gordon."

Her eyes widened.

"Whoa, hold up. The Police Commissioner? Just what am I supposed to say to him? 'Excuse me, I heard you had some trouble with a serial assassin, so I thought I'd hack into some FBI databases for you.'? I don't think so… Besides, I can't do anything unless you give me _something_ to go on."

"Tell the Commissioner that I instructed you to do this. He's desperate for a way to stop the killing spree. And he knows I have ways to enlist the help of people he doesn't have access to – he'll believe you."

"And how am I supposed to know what to look for, if I do get past the FBI's protection?"

"You know his name."

"You expect me to dig up enough information to find him based on his name? We're talking about a guy who goes by the moniker 'Deadshot', what makes you think he's stupid enough to use his real name on the bank transfers?"

"He's not stupid. He just doesn't think he'll get caught."

* * *

A few minutes later, a lone shadow of a man, in a cape black as night and with the mind of a predator, stood high on a rooftop, surveying the city beneath him. He had spent so much time submerged in its darkness, in Gotham's dark corners of malice and cruelty, that it felt somewhat strange to view the city from above, as he did now. To see only beauty, but still know the evil that lurked beneath the surface was a burden he would share with no one else.

He still wore the armor, the cape and the cowl, but he knew that he would not need them later. The enemy he faced tonight knew what hid beneath _his_ mask. It wasn't likely that he would have much use for his gadgets either. She would know about most of them, and would have researched how to counter them. But he had one weapon with him now that he did not normally carry.

A worn sword, made for him in a remote monastery somewhere high in the mountains of Tibet now rested in its sheath, strapped to his back. A day or so earlier, he had removed it from the display case in Wayne Manor, cleaned it thoroughly, sharpened it, and slid it into the black sheath that had followed it through all the trials of the League of Shadows.

He had not expected to ever use it again. Everything about his mission had changed since leaving the League, and his weapons had changed accordingly. And then, there was his opponent. He had not expected to see her again either. Talia, the daughter of his greatest teacher, and his greatest enemy. His thoughts travelled back to the first time he had seen her. It had been during the monsoon season, and it must have been about halfway into his time with the League. He had returned to the monastery, along with a group of other initiates, after an exhausting run along a slippery mountain ridge. The heavy rain had whipped and torn at them from beginning to end, and although every initiate knew that they would have to endure whatever their master set them to next, more than one hoped that they would at least be allowed a change of clothes before their training resumed. They were not. Instead, they were directed to a plaza that was shielded from the surroundings by the walls of the monastery, but open to the elements from above. And there they stood, having been given no further orders.

Among the first things Bruce Wayne, and every other initiate of the League was taught was to do as they were told, no more and no less. Walk when you were told to walk, run when you were told to run, fight when you were told to fight, and endure when you were told to endure. So, having not been told to leave the plaza, no one dared to walk away. That would, without a doubt result in worse punishment that being cold and soaking wet. As he stood there, feeling his already sore muscles stiffen from the cold, enduring the painstaking waiting game along with his group, Bruce saw a shadow observing him from a covered balcony above. At first he thought nothing of it, it was merely an observation, a message that his eyes had sent to his brain for processing. The shadow could be Ra's al Ghul, watching his subjects, or Ducard studying his students to find every possible flaw, neither of those were unusual. But, his eyes told him, this was not Ra's' shadow, or Ducard's. It was slighter and more fleeting, and Bruce spent a few minutes thinking of who it could be, before the thought of a woman crossed his mind. Now that would be unusual.

There were no women in the monastery, the only women the initiates sometimes saw were local women coming to the monastery with food or other supplies, but they were never allowed inside. Once or twice, a woman had appeared among a group of new initiates, but none of them had come more than two months into the training before either dying or being injured so badly they would be of no more use to the League. At least one Bruce knew of had died from over-exertion. He would later learn that although women did have a place and a purpose within the structure of the League, very few were selected to undergo the kind of training given at the monastery, and of those who were chosen, even fewer survived. According to Ra's, it would be foolish to deny that men were physically superior to women. Knowing the strength and sheer will it took just to get to the monastery, and the fact that it was only a taste of what could be expected if you made it inside, Bruce had to agree. And yet, that day, in the monastery, there was a woman.

He had ignored her at first, or at least, he had done his best to. But as much as he had tried to put it out of his mind, he could not escape the feeling of being watched. Something, a feeling he was then beginning to learn how to trust, but still could not explain, told him that this woman was not watching them, as much as watching him. And that begged the question: why?

Had he known the answer to that question sooner, and had he learned the truth about what Ra's had in mind for him earlier, his training with the League would probably have been cut short, and he could have avoided the affiliation with Talia. But he did wonder, if the choice had been different, or he had been given the ability to undo it. Would he?

Talia was gifted in many things, she was smart and beautiful, a warrior like him, strong, seemingly invincible on the outside, while on the inside she would always be the daughter who could never quite live up to her father's expectations, simply because her father had desired a male child to succeed him. And he had wondered, more than once, if the two of them wouldn't have found each other, and maybe even made a life together, if it weren't for his staunch defense of a world she saw unfit to exist. He shook his head at the foolish, romantic thought. Now, he had come to see Talia and himself as two sides of the same coin, forever opposing each other, never to be joined.

He wondered if Talia hadn't, deep in her heart, come to the same conclusion, but her actions told him quite clearly that she was happier trying to convince herself that she could still win him. And if that meant going after the woman he loved, then she would do that, without question, without regret. Without him, Connie was helpless against such a determined criminal, especially when that criminal had near unlimited financial resources at her disposal. The thought of coming face to face with Talia, and what this next encounter might entail for the both of them, was not pleasant, but he knew that he would never forgive himself if he did nothing and Connie ended up dead because of it. He had already watched over her once, as she hovered between life and death, and during those long hours he had sworn to protect her in any way he could. And now, he cared much too deeply about her to even think about making her a sacrifice.

He took one more calming breath, and let himself fall, for a moment swallowed up by the darkness he had grown so accustomed to, before technology and skill brought him soaring high above the city lights.

* * *

In the space of fifteen minutes, Connie had been pitted against just as many firewalls. She caught herself thinking that even for the FBI, that many firewalls seemed a bit excessive. But then again, there were people like her in the world. Hackers, most of which had far more nefarious motives than her.

She could see how hackers were attracted to the FBI's files, though. The challenge would be an almost irresistible temptation, and the reward was intriguing to say the least. Connie, having worked for Wayne Enterprises for a while, and having been involved with some government contracts, knew that government agencies had access to much more information than the public knew, or rather wanted to know. But even with that knowledge, she was surprised at just how far, wide and deep the information she now sifted through stretched.

There were lists of people in witness protection, case files on gangs and other criminal networks that stretched across the country, as well as detailed info on more murderers than she ever wanted to know about.

She had expected to have to dig through a number of aliases, and some loose threads, but to her surprise Floyd Lawton wasn't that hard to find. And, as she soon discovered, he was very well connected. At least one key figure in every underworld around the globe had been affiliated with Lawton at one point or another, often to eliminate the competition.

A track record like that meant that the FBI did keep track of Lawton's activities, and there was a host of additional information, records or previous transactions, travels, as well as several bank accounts attached to his name.

Connie choose not to speculate in why the FBI would be so uncooperative towards the Gotham PD. Surely, getting such a hardened criminal off the streets would be a good thing? She shook her head in quiet disbelief, while she waited for the machine to copy the information on Lawton. She wouldn't risk using it on her own, the police would know better than her what to do with it, and she knew who to contact. Besides, she would rather not tiptoe around the FBI database for too long. She was already balancing on the razor's edge.

As soon as the files were secured, she quickly cut all connections with the FBI database. For a moment, she sat completely still, staring blankly at the screen in front of her, letting it sink in just how close she had come to putting herself on some form of Most Wanted list. And for what exactly? So she could be on good terms with a vigilante?

She shook her head in dismay at her own thoughts. What is done is done; it wouldn't do her any good to dwell on it. She had chosen to do this, so she might as well follow through. Retrieving her cell phone from the table, she carefully punched the number she had been given. The phone rang once…twice…three times, while she mentally prepared herself to hear the voice of Gotham's Police Commissioner on the other end. She had no idea how well she would handle herself under that kind of pressure, but she had to try. As long as she didn't reveal anything about herself, she'd be fine.

"Gordon."

Straight to the point, was Connie's first thought. Not that she had expected anything else from the Commissioner. He had always struck her as the kind of man who knew how to get things done.

"I have something for you…" She began, in what she hoped was a suitably casual, yet serious voice.

"Something that can help you nail Floyd Lawton."

On the other end, Gordon had fallen stunningly silent. For the briefest of seconds Connie wondered why, until a thought occurred to her.

"You thought I was him, didn't you, Commissioner?"

She had a feeling that she wouldn't need to specify who 'him' was, suspecting that both she and the Commissioner knew very well that she meant Batman. Then, she remembered the rooftop chase she had been a part of the year before, how she had ended up on the roof of the Major Case Unit's offices, and the shock of seeing then captain of the Major Case squad James Gordon greet Batman with familiarity. It struck her that, despite Batman's outlaw status, the two of them still cooperated. She wasn't sure if she thought it was reassuring or frightening.

"Yes…yes, I did." She heard Gordon's voice say. To her surprise, he continued:

"But there's something familiar about your voice..."

Panic struck her quickly, but Connie managed to regain the use of speech within a few seconds.

"Please," she pleaded with Gordon, silently begging him to understand.

"That's not important right now. The important thing is: I know how to get into Floyd Lawton's bank accounts. Is there anyone within the department…someone you trust, someone with some technological skills, that I could pass it on to?"

Gordon was silent, and Connie wondered whether it was because he was thinking, trying to find someone suitable, or if he was considering having her phone traced or something like that. Of course, he probably wouldn't have much luck with her phone, so all the better for him if he just let that one slide and actually got to grips with what was important.

His thoughts seemed to have taken a similar direction, because he said:

"Yeah…yeah, I think I do. There's a guy called Adams…John Adams…He's a crime scene tech with the Major Case Unit. He's trustworthy."

"Okay. I'll make sure he gets everything I have."

Connie broke the connection before Gordon could reply. Just because her cell phone was harder to hack than most didn't mean she was willing to take more risks than necessary, especially not now, minutes after successfully hacking the FBI computers.

Still… She could see the attraction. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules from time to time. Now, she only hoped that Detective Adams would have the good sense to do his job and follow through with all the information she was about to give him.

The thrill wore off quickly. After all, she had no way to actually check that what she had just done would mean anything. It could just come to nothing. She sighed, and leant back in her chair. Suddenly, she was struck by how eerily silent the penthouse was. At first she dismissed it as her mind simply being hyped on the adrenaline from her recent stint at hacking. It was probably nothing. The apartment was huge, and as far as she knew, the only ones there were her and Alfred. And he was probably busy doing whatever it was he did day in and day out. But however hard she tried, a feeling still gnawed at her, a feeling that something wasn't quite right.

She rose from her seat, and carefully looked around, as if she was expecting to see that something had changed around her. Of course, she saw nothing, and shook her head at her own stupidity.

_All these mystery-loving villains and assassins are starting to get to you_, she thought to herself.

Deciding to stretch her legs, pretty much because she could think of nothing else to do, Connie started walking around the apartment, stopping at random to see if she could find something to interest her. The view, although spectacular, was getting kind of old, so anything else that could grab her attention would be a welcome distraction.

The distraction, whatever it might have been, didn't come fast enough, and her mind began to wander. She was curious as to what was now going on in the GCPD Tech department, if this John Adams character would do anything about the information she had provided for him. She hoped he would, since that would hopefully get this assassin off her tail.

_If there is an assassin._

Now, where did that thought come from? Of course there was…Bruce wouldn't be lying to her about something like that. Would he?

Of course not. Then again, he could be lying to her about pretty much everything. She still hadn't forgotten that grainy picture, taken during a police raid in Burma, nor the comparison her brain had somehow made between Bruce Wayne and the Batman. Neither had she forgotten her research trip to the Gotham Library, and what she had read about an organization calling itself The League of Shadows. And, now that she was thinking about it, didn't Bruce Wayne have a suspiciously large amount of sports accidents and other mishaps, even for an extreme sports loving playboy of his caliber? Every week there seemed to be some headline in the magazines that poor Bruce had injured himself…not that any of the injuries seemed to keep him from accompanying beautiful women to exclusive charity events or glamorous premieres.

No…it was too far out there to even be considered. Of course Bruce Wayne wasn't Batman.

_But,_ another part of Connie's mind intervened, _Gotham is a strange city. It does strange things to the people who live here. _

She couldn't argue with that. If there was one city in the world today that could throw you a curve ball faster than any other, it was Gotham. In some ways, it was the darkest city known to man…and although she didn't like to think about it, it corrupted people. So, who was she to say that it was impossible for Gotham to have turned a fun-loving playboy into a vengeful creature of the night?

No one. And because of that little grain of doubt, she still couldn't dismiss the theory.

She had been lost in her own thoughts, until she thought she saw an image of someone reflect in the dark screen on the TV. Spinning around, she saw that the space behind her was empty. Still, the feeling that something wasn't quite as it should be hadn't subsided, and in an effort to clear up what she was now almost convinced must be a mere trick of the light, she ventured:

"Alfred?"

No reply. It's not that strange, Connie thought. He's probably off somewhere on the opposite side of the house, and I'm just being paranoid…as usual.

She sighed, almost relieved to be able to make that conclusion, and turned back. When her eyes once again turned in the direction of the polished, black TV, the image was there again. And this time, it was taking a swing at her.


	13. The Lady Killers

**Disclaimer: **Batman and all other related and recognizable characters are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's Note:** This chapter has been over four months in the making. I assure you, it was not my intention to take so long to update. But, as some of you may have read, shortly before Christmas my grandmother, who I loved dearly, was diagnosed with later-stage lung cancer, and a couple of weeks ago, she passed away due to that illness. I am sorry to have kept you waiting, those of you who were eager for another chapter, but I hope you can understand why I took so long. As always, thoughts and reviews are much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading.

* * *

The house looked no different now than it had during his last altercation with Talia, but as he approached he could tell that something _was_ different. There was no sound coming from within. The TV he had heard before was no longer audible, and he could not hear voices or anything else that would indicate that there was anyone in the house. Still, he entered carefully, all his senses on guard. If there was one lesson he had taken away from his stay with the League, it was that many things were not as they appeared. And he had learned that lesson the hard way.

His mind was working fast, re-establishing the memory of the room he walked into, as well as the layout of the rest of the house based on what he had seen on his previous visit, working from probability and knowledge of the architecture in assuming what the rooms he hadn't been in might contain.

_Mind your surroundings_

The lesson from his old master echoed in his mind, as much a call to fight as an actual reminder. He had beaten Ra's…he could beat Talia. He had to. Or else Connie, and probably also Jim Gordon, possibly even Alfred, would be dead.

He slowly made his way through the house, towards the room where he had last seen and spoken to Talia Al Ghul. He had no way of knowing if she would still be there… Common sense said that she would have left shortly after their previous confrontation, as her loyal servants within the League had apparently done. But her actions, however deadly and resourceful they appeared to be, did not seem to be dictated by common sense at the moment.

One part of him marveled at the fact that Talia, the daughter of a criminal mastermind of Ra's Al Ghul's caliber would let herself be guided by emotions she had been trained to ignore. The fact that she was so determined spoke volumes of their tempestuous relationship… even though he was reluctant to refer to what was between them as a 'relationship'. She had turned her training and her resources towards a goal, and it was _her_ goal, serving only to please herself and create chaos.

Another part of him argued that it was not so strange. After all, wasn't he too more guided by his emotions than his training at this point? The two of them had both chosen their paths, knowing that there was an easier one, free from the strains of emotion. And they had chosen to ignore it. He had chosen as he had, because he had realized, at the end of his training with the League, that emotions such as empathy and compassion, emotions that he was still capable of feeling, was what separated him from the criminals he held responsible for the decay of Gotham City, and the life that had been stolen from him. Why she had chosen to ignore her father's will in this matter, was not as clear to him. Ra's would not be pleased if he ever discovered what Talia had been doing, that was certain.

He brushed the thoughts aside, and pushed further into the house. The further in he went, the more he became convinced that if there were any member of the League of Shadows left in the house, it was Talia herself. He had an ominous feeling that she would be waiting for him. That, perhaps she had waited for him all along, and that everything else…was just collateral damage.

As he approached the room where he had last seen Talia, he could feel a draft of chill night air, probably coming from the window he had unwillingly broken on his last visit. The door was cracked open, but he couldn't see much of the room, so he carefully pushed the door wide open, prepared for everything…or so he thought.

Because what awaited him inside was not what he had expected at all. Directly across the room from him sat Talia, kneeling on the floor. But her attention was not directed towards him, but towards the contents of a large wooden tray placed in front of her. On the tray, he saw a teapot, as well as what he recognized as traditional Chinese tea making utensils.

Just then, she looked up, and their eyes met.

"Beloved."

It was said with pleasure, as if she was greeting a husband or a lover who had been gone for a long time.

For a brief moment he was struck by the bizarre situation. He was fairly certain that on some level this woman wanted him dead. And yet, here she was offering him tea… The only conclusion he could come to was that she did so as a sign of respect. But this was only the beginning. If he knew Talia…and he did, her volatile relationship with him would soon turn this into something considerably more violent. Yet, for now, he would oblige her.

"Talia."

His voice, which he had preferred to sound hostile, in fact sounded almost pleasant.

"You may take off your mask if you like." She continued pleasantly, but not without an edge to her voice.

"I know who you are underneath…Bruce. I knew you before you put the mask on."

He didn't answer, but did what she said, and took off the cowl.

"I've always enjoyed seeing your face."

She stood, and walked over to him. When she came to face him, she let one hand gently caress his face, tracing the outline from brow to chin, resting an extra second on his cheekbone.

"Even now?" He asked, trying not to sound too stunned.

"Yes, Bruce… even now."

Slowly, she leaned in for a kiss, and in that moment he was transported back years, to the darkness of a monastery high in the Himalayas, and the taste of forbidden fruit.

It was nothing but desire that had brought them together that night. Desire, and the unforgiving thrill of doing something both knew to be forbidden. He had been younger then, and still blinded by the teachings of the League, by the talk of vengeance and retribution, but he could not claim that ignorance anymore. Yet, he leaned into the kiss with as much passion as she did.

When they broke apart a few moments later, it was as if nothing had changed, as if they had never been apart, as if they were still both standing in the darkened monastery. She caressed his face again, and whispered;

"Beloved…it doesn't have to be like this. Forget that common woman…return home with me, in triumph, and we could be together forever."

He remained silent, while a part of him was, despite himself, considering the possibility. He did not, however, allow the thought to really take hold. She had gone too far, he reminded himself. Too many innocent lives had already been lost.

"What about the people you've killed, Talia? People who had done nothing to you…"

As he spoke her name, she smiled slightly, and leaned in to kiss him again. This time, he did not respond, but that did not dissuade her.

"Why does it matter? They were not important to you… They were of no consequence."

He remembered now, what had changed his view of the entire League of Shadows. He had wanted vengeance, and had been grateful for the possibilities they offered him, but that was before he discovered their blatant disregard for human lives. It sickened him now, when he had learned that the world consisted of more gray areas than it did of black and white.

"You're threatening to kill Connie, the Police Commissioner…and even Alfred. You _know_ they mean something to me…"

"It's not too late for them… Lawton works for me. He'll blow the whole thing off, if I say so."

He smiled at that, the kind of half-arrogant smile some held reserved for people whose perception of the world is wholly different from their own.

She seemed genuinely surprised at his reaction, something he had anticipated.

"Did you pay him?" He asked

For a moment perplexed by the question, Talia answered;

"Of course. We are both professionals, after all."

Her hand travelled to stroke his cheek once again, but this time he halted her before she could touch him, by gripping her wrist tightly with his own hand.

"You should do some more research on the people you do business with," he said, his voice a dangerous, low whisper.

"Floyd Lawton has not yet withdrawn from a mark he has been paid to kill." He continues, studying her face intently as he spoke, searching for any kind of uncertainty, any kind of fear. And he found it.

"You've lost your bargaining chip, Talia." He concluded, and as he said it, she did seem afraid, but only for a split second.

He felt a surge of unexpected pity towards her, and while he didn't let go of her wrist, he looked into her eyes and said calmly;

"You should have known Talia, that it could never end any other way between us…"

She smiled, an oddly sad smile, and her eyes had become blank with tears.

"Before we met…" she hesitated,

"I never questioned my father's will. But when I felt the man I loved slip from my grasp, because of my father's obsession to rid the world of human influence, I cursed him…"

"Now I see that our parting was not his doing…it was yours. You would have slipped away from me regardless. And now, I curse you both!"

He was prepared for the attack, but not quite for the ferocity with which she launched herself at him. He saw a brief glint of steel and felt the impact as she struck at his torso with a dagger, but the blade struck one of the plates in his armor, shattering both it and the knife.

When the next blow landed, he was prepared. As the blow struck, he managed to grab a hold of her wrist and twist it, so hard that her body had no choice but to follow. His advantage was soon cut short, as Talia managed to knock him off balance just long enough to escape his grasp.

She launched herself towards the low table, halfway splintering it with the force of her body, and breaking the tea pot and cups, causing the contents to spill. Talia didn't seem to care, but kept grasping at the floor behind the table until her hand gripped what she was searching for. Almost violently, she straightened and pulled a curved sword from its sheath. He recognized that too from years ago, it was much more elegant than the one he carried, with etchings running the length of the blade on both sides and a beautifully carved cross-guard. He caught himself wondering if the sword was a gift from her father, or something she had acquired herself.

He looked at his opponent across the floor, and it struck him that she no longer appeared as the confident, beautiful socialite that had stolen all the attention at his party. Now, the look in her eyes resembled that of an animal about to attack, and the torn dress and messy hair, along with the blood that trickled from a cut on her cheek spoke more of a predator than a seductress.

Slowly, hesitant to take the final step, he pulled his own sword from its sheath. He had known all along that it would come to this, but now that they were opponents once again, a part of him deeply wished that Talia al Ghul had stayed away from Gotham.

* * *

Connie didn't have time to react to the first blow. Before she could even bring her arms up in front of her to defend herself, she was struck on the side of the face so hard that she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor.

Still at a loss about what exactly was happening, Connie blinked and stared up at her attacker. To her surprise, a woman about her own age was standing over her. Whoever she was, she was dressed all in black, and Connie noted that she seemed to be very fit, without being overly muscular. A well kept mane of dark red hair hung down over her shoulders, half obscuring Connie's view of her face. All she could really see was the shadow of two piercing eyes, and a mouth that was painted a deep red with lipstick.

Not that it mattered. Judging from the dark look in the woman's eyes, Connie understood that if she didn't move quickly, this shadowed face would be the last one she ever saw. She struggled to push away all the questions of 'why' and 'how', realizing that she only had so much time before her attacker came at her again. She rolled, narrowly dodging a kick, before stumbling to her feet again.

Now, with their faces at the same level, she could make out the features of her attacker more clearly. The eyes turned out to be dark and almond-shaped, and would have been pleasant to look into had they not narrowed in barely contained fury.

"Who the hell are you?"

Connie notice that her voice sounded far more frightened and desperate than she would have liked it to. She didn't know what kind of answer she expected to get, and she was pretty sure that whatever it was, she wasn't going to like it.

The woman gave an arrogant one-shouldered shrug, and smiled an odd smile that was really just a grimace.

"That doesn't matter. What matters, is that your boyfriend is going to come home and find his lover bloodied, and lifeless."

Connie struggled to comprehend what she had just heard. Before she could think of anything clever to say, her mouth echoed her thoughts.

"What?"

"You wretched, ignorant little thing… Deadshot's not the one who wants you dead. Talia al Ghul does. Deadshot's just the handyman…or, should I say _one_ of the handymen."

Seeing Connie's confusion, the other woman continued;

"Don't trouble your pretty little head with that…it will all be over for you very soon."

Connie didn't respond, but felt herself getting annoyed…yes, angry even, at the arrogant taunts hurled at her by this woman. Just who did she think she was, some panicking trust fund kid?

In that moment, Connie felt inexplicably calm. She knew she shouldn't, that it wasn't what you'd call a normal response to being told that the person in front of you was planning to beat you to a bloody pulp, but a voice inside her head repeatedly told her not to panic.

_You surv__ived the Riddler…you can survive this._

The other woman had gotten tired of talking, and once again moved to attack her target. But this time Connie sidestepped, reached out and grabbed the woman's wrist, forced it downwards, and threw a punch herself. She hit the woman square in the face, harder than she had really meant to, but she couldn't deny that there was some satisfaction in putting up a fight.

The other woman stumbled backwards, cursing in surprise. She looked up at Connie, and to Connie's surprise, she was grinning. A terrifying, predator-like grin, that looked very much inappropriate for someone who had just taken a hit to the face.

"I could have made this so easy for you… All you would've had to do was take it, and it would have been over in a few minutes. Now, it's going to take longer…and hurt far more."

She moved in closer, and an expert kick swept Connie off her feet before she could brace herself. Connie caught herself mid-fall, however, and managed to stay on her feet by taking a step backwards. However, the balancing act left her vulnerable, and she took a punch to the gut instead.

Getting the wind knocked out of her forced her down on her knees, something her opponent was quick to take advantage of. Before she could move to get up, Connie took another punch to the face, which sent her to the floor.

The world seemed to disappear for a while, and all she could really feel was the cold floor beneath her, and the taste of blood in her mouth.

But then, there was this annoying part of her brain that refused to lie there and enjoy the silence and coolness of the floor. It started out carefully; urging her to open her eyes, but when she disobeyed it became steadily more insistent, practically yelling at her to get up. After a few moments, and for no better reason than wanting the voice in her head to stop, Connie obeyed.

Her own speed surprised her, especially since her mind felt very sluggish and uncooperative, but somehow she managed to get back on her feet and run. She wasn't sure where she was going; anywhere that could possibly fit the description of 'away' was alright with her. However, she only got as far as the kitchen before she was tackled again, and sent crashing into a cupboard.

Struggling to her feet and facing her opponent once again, everything somehow became very clear. She saw the glint of a knife, and recognized it as one coming from a block of knives on the bench behind them, and wondered why a murdered wouldn't bring her own knife to do the work. But then again, maybe that was a smart move… more chance of making it look like a freak accident.

Connie decided, right then and there, not to go quietly. At first it had just been a reaction, something she had done unconsciously, because she didn't want to die, and lying there waiting just seemed too easy. Now, it was a stone cold determination on her part.

Her attacker launched at her again. Connie brought an arm up to defend herself from the blow, and felt the icing pain of the knife as it plunged into her arm. She screamed, in fear as much as anger.

* * *

Across town, the sickening sound of steel meeting steel echoed through near silence. The only other sounds audible was the breathing of the two combatants, growing heavier with each time the two circled each other.

They had been at it for a while now. Being evenly matched in every aspect, it was difficult for either of them to get the upper hand. Bruce thought that maybe he should be grateful. It had been a long time since he had been forced to fight anyone with a sword, and Talia was among the best fighters he knew to exist.

"Do you really think that if you beat me your girlfriend will be safe?"

It was as if she had read his mind. He was sure that his features had betrayed nothing, but Talia knew him well enough to still read something from them.

"You know I don't work alone…did you really think it would be different now?"

He was silent, continuously circling her, more and more intent on not letting her get the upper hand.

"Ah. It would seem I hit a nerve…." She remarked coyly.

"Who did you send?" Bruce asked, trying not to let the anger he felt get the best of him. He assumed that she still had more people in her employ than Floyd Lawton, and that even Lawton couldn't be two places at once. It was difficult to kill one prey when you were stalking another, after all. The beast in him was straining on its chain, and he wanted to storm across the floor and close his hands around Talia's throat. But he knew that Talia would likely impale him on her blade before he could even get that far.

"Whisper A'Daire. You remember? The redhead you met the last time you were here…"

She spoke as if her words didn't apply to a murderess, but to some casual acquaintance of the both of them.

Bruce decided that he had heard enough. He advanced, taking one step, then another across the floor towards her, blocking and delivering blows on instinct more than thought process. Through the blur of the swords, he could see Talia frown in concentration. Perhaps she had come expecting him to have forgotten many of his combat skills? If that was the case he would prove her wrong.

He had gotten closer now, and in a flash of fury he swiped the sword from her hands and reached out, grabbing her and slamming her into the wall behind them. Her sword fell to the floor, and there was a look of utter surprise on her face at the sudden change of direction. She wasn't one to be caught off guard, and although he managed to keep her from reclaiming her sword by a punch to the jaw, she returned the blow with one of her own, directed directly towards one of the weak points in his armor.

She managed to break one arm free of his grip, and before he could move to defend himself, she had pulled a slim dagger from the folds of her dress and slid it in between the plates of the armor. He twisted, to avoid the brunt of the impact, but as he did so he felt the knife snap in two, and knew that not only had she managed to draw blood, but the tip of the knife was still in the wound. He hoped it would have the good sense to stay there, and not cripple him by travelling further in.

He straightened, delivering a blow that was so fierce it made her stumble backwards and land straight on her back. He turned, and watched her pull herself into a sitting position. For a moment the two of them regarded each other, and he saw something in Talia's eyes he had never seen before. Fear. He could not explain it, but for a brief moment she seemed genuinely afraid of him, like she had finally grasped that her actions had not been just a game to him. It didn't last long; she was back on her feet within seconds, advancing on him.

It was only a few seconds, but it was all he needed to calm himself, to focus. To push everything else aside.

When the fight resumed, he moved as he had been taught, with fluid, targeted motions, meant to do one thing or another. There were no mistakes, no missed opportunities. His punches and kicks became more precise, and the fight now looked more like what it was, a showdown between two highly skilled martial artists.

Talia, while she followed his lead and changed her style, seemed to struggle to contain her anger, and it influenced her motions. She was quick to strike, but her tactics suffered because of it, and he was able to read her more easily, and counter most of her moves.

He hesitated, halted his attacks. Stood firm, but did little to answer her frenzied attacks. Perhaps he hadn't fully understood until then, what he would have to do.

_Kill her._

No, he couldn't. Not even now, with everything she had put into motion. Not even if he came back to the penthouse to find Connie dead. Not even then. He could not bring himself to cross that line. It went against everything he believed in, everything he stood for.

He made up his mind. In one swift motion he had both her hands in an iron grip, and, forcing her down to the ground, he restrained her. He'd used the cuffs on countless criminals before, they were thin strips of durable plastic, made to close easily around a wrist or a foot, but at the same time be practically impossible to get out of.

She struggled, screamed in fury and hurled insults at him while he tied her feet together, but he ignored her.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"I've grown tired of your games." He responded calmly.

"You fool!" She spat at him.

"You are either with us, or against us, there is no in-between!"

As he hoisted her onto his shoulders, he smiled a satisfied smile.

"That was always your problem Talia, seeing the world only in black and white."

The Gotham Harbor was quiet that night. The mob preferred to run their shipments on moonless nights, a superstition left over from the days of smuggling, probably, but he was grateful nevertheless.

The harbor was on several of his regular patrols, just because of the clear links to the mob, and this afforded him a certain knowledge of what shipments went where and when. He couldn't bring himself to kill Talia, and she would not give him peace as long as she was in Gotham, so he would simply have to make sure she wasn't in Gotham much longer.

Oddly enough she stopped struggling as he carried her from the car and into the docking area. When he had opened one of the containers, and prepared to carry her inside, her eyes pleaded with him to remove the gag from her mouth. Hesitantly, he did, preparing for an ear shattering scream.

But Talia didn't scream.

"Would you truly do this to me? Tie me up and ship me off like I was nothing other than goods."

"What does it look like?" He replied, determined not to be drawn in by the charms he knew she could exhibit if she wanted to.

"You should have never come here, Talia."

"And you should have killed me when you had the chance." She replied, with sadness in her voice. It did not go unnoticed.

"Why am I not enough for you? What does she have that I lack?"

Behind the mask, Bruce hesitated for a moment. He wanted to answer, but he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he said;

"Innocence."

"No Man is innocent." Talia answered coldly.

"But not all are slaves to the darkness like you and I."

Their eyes met, and there was silence for a long while as the two studied each other.

"I see now…" Talia said slowly

"Why I was so attracted to you…why I love you and despise you…why you were never like the rest."

She paused, considering her words before she continued;

"I thrive on the darkness. It consumed me a long time ago, perhaps because I have never known different. And while there is darkness in you too…a darkness that most would never understand, that _Connie_ will never understand…"

He froze at the sound of Connie's name coming from Talia's mouth. Talia noticed, and smiled a slight, enigmatic smile.

"You still fight it. The darkness within you has yet to overcome you. I admire you for that."

She leant in, and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. The kind of kiss one lover gives another as they prepare to part. After she had broken away from him, he asked;

"Are they dead? Connie…? Alfred…? Gordon…?"

"Whisper's orders was to kill everyone who was in the penthouse…I cannot know whether or not she has succeeded, but I trained her myself, so I assume that she has. As for Gordon…he's not dead…yet."

She spoke the words with the last remnants of triumph in her voice, the regret that had seemed present a moment earlier completely forgotten. Their moment was over, and Bruce wasted no time. Without concern for her, he threw her into the container. He watched her twist to compensate, and land almost gracefully despite being tied hands and feet. With one final look at one another, a heavy door of corrugated steel slammed shut between them, and Bruce locked it securely from the outside.

He knew he hadn't seen the last of her. He also knew that she was already planning her escape, and would likely be free long before the container reached its destination, but he thought it unlikely that she would return to finish him off. There was an unspoken code of honor between them, a graciousness that was there although it didn't show. He had won this round, and Talia would honor that. Although Bruce could never consider having three more possible casualties on his hands winning. He both dreaded and anticipated the call he would have to make to the penthouse, because he knew that there was a chance, albeit a small one, that Connie and Alfred had both managed to stay alive.

* * *

She struck blindly, trying to fight the other woman off, but her opponent now showed just how much more skillful she was, and used Connie's own movements to get her to stumble backwards.

Connie tripped over one of the kitchen chairs, managed to turn her body in such a way that she could break her fall, and stumble back to her feet, once again running away from her attacker.

Whisper gave chase, and caught up with Connie in the living room, crashing into her and tackling her against a window so violently it cracked. Connie yelled, and tried to break free of Whisper's grip. She had long since abandoned any kind of strategy she might have had, now she couldn't even think straight. All that was in her head was that she did not want to die. She recognized the desperation, she'd felt it before, and yet she could not fight it.

Whisper forced her down onto her knees, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"You're boring me now. It's time we finish this."

Connie felt the sharp edge of the knife against her throat, felt that it had already drawn blood, and she knew that in a matter of seconds, there would be a lot more blood spilling out over the hardwood floor. Her blood.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, a desperate prayer to a God she scarcely believed in.

_Please, dear God, no…_

A shot rang out, echoing through the apartment. Connie heard the knife clatter to the floor, the sound of glass shattering and felt a cold rush of air. She opened her eyes, blinking, trying to come to terms with the realization that she was still alive. Looking around, bewildered, she saw the knife on the floor in front of her, and the shattered window at her side. Across the room stood Alfred Pennyworth, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, a rifle aimed at a spot behind her. As she watched him, he lowered the rifle, and their eyes met.

"Are you alright, Miss Tate?"

She didn't respond at first, still dazed by what had just happened. After a moment she seemed to realize something, and said;

"Alfred…you're bleeding."

Now it was Alfred's turn not to respond. Instead he put down the rifle and moved across the room. Gently, he lifted her to her feet, and inspected her wounds more closely.

"Looks like she just barely cut the skin… I think you'll be alright, Miss Tate, but we'll have to see about getting you looked at by a physician."

* * *

Jim Gordon had slowly gotten used to the fact that something, usually a phone call, could make his day go from bad to worse in very little time. This, as it turned out, was one of those days. There had been no shortage of frantic phone calls to various branches of the GCPD since the news of Floyd Lawton's escapades got out, but so far every single one had been the result of panic-stricken citizens feeling the shadow of Deadshot loom over them. But the call he had received five minutes past noon on this Thursday in late April was different.

It started normal enough. Picking up the phone, he heard the voice of functioning District Attorney Alexandra Harper. It surprised him, because although he had dealings with the D.A on a regular basis, he was usually the one to call her, not the other way around.

"Good day, Counselor. What can I do for you?"

"Commissioner…I was wondering if I could have a word with you in my office, please?"

The question struck him as odd right off the bat. He'd noticed a slight tremble in her voice almost immediately that wasn't characteristic of her normal tone. That, and she rarely asked him to come to her office. At least towards him, she had been very accommodating, and usually volunteered to drop off any paperwork he needed, rather than have someone come and pick it up. He'd chalked that up to Harper being, like him, hands on in approach to her job, and he couldn't really see a reason for a sudden change in that part of her character.

Still, he agreed to make the short journey across the street to the District Attorney's office. But before he left his office, he removed his sidearm from the desk drawer he kept it in while in the office, and called Maggie Sawyer.

Maggie picked up quickly, as always.

"Sawyer."

"Gordon," he introduced himself.

"Listen, Maggie, I have a feeling something might be up at the DA's office – and I don't mean anything like the usual stuff – you haven't heard anything, have you?"

On the other end, Maggie Sawyer was momentarily silent, before replying;

"Not a thing. What happened to make you think something's up?"

"I got a call from the D.A. She sounded shaky…scared even. I know that's thin, but D.A Harper isn't one to get scared easily. There's a reason while she's still D.A and not lying dead in the gutter up in Crown Point, so I thought I'd check it out."

"Do you have any idea what could have spooked her?"

"No, but I know that she's on Deadshot's list."

"So are you, Jim."

Gordon froze for a moment at the mention of his first name. Few people in PD called him 'Jim', and although Maggie Sawyer was a friend as well as a colleague, she rarely called him by his first name on the job.

"I know."

"Is that why you called?" She demanded.

"Kind of." Gordon replied, trying to sound a bit more confident than he felt.

"I have a feeling I might need backup."

"No kidding…"

Sawyer's voice betrayed a mix of sarcasm and dejection.

"No lights and sirens…" He warned. On the other end of the line, he heard Maggie Sawyer sigh.

"I'll take MacDonald and a couple of others…no lights, no sirens."

"Maggie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we have any kind of leverage…if it turns out to be what we think?"

Sawyer hesitated.

"Not at the moment…but I've got Bullock and Reed working with some techs on the finances you got us. I'll give them a call, tell them to hurry things along…it seems we're running out of time, and options."

* * *

It was a relief beyond words, when he heard the voice of Alfred Pennyworth on the phone. He had taken refuge in what appeared to be a shipping container, but that was in fact a refuge for one of Gotham's most wanted men. Not too long ago, it had been the Batman's main center of operations, but with the completion of Wayne Manor, most of the equipment and computers had been moved back to the original Cave.

"Alfred! Is Connie there? Is she okay?"

"Miss Tate is no longer on the premises, no. But she should be fine...I had Leslie Thompkins examine her, she earned herself quite a few cuts and bruises and some fractured ribs. We had an unannounced visitor, you see..."

"I know, Alfred. Talia gloated, promising me you would both be dead when I returned..."

He paused, to really take in the feeling of relief that now washed over him, and Alfred seemed to do the same, because he did not speak. After a while, Bruce asked;

"Where's Connie now?"

"At her mother's home, I assume. Mrs. Tate came to pick her daughter up at the clinic, and said she was going to take Connie home with her."

"You met her mother?"

"I did. She seemed like a very astute, practical woman. I could see the relation."

A small smile crept across Bruce's face at the thought of Connie, that she was going to be okay. He was about to ask Alfred what exactly had happened at the penthouse, when the spluttering of a nearby police radio caught his attention.

"Hang on a second, Alfred..." he excused himself, turning his attention to the radio.

He recognized the voice of Captain Maggie Sawyer of Major Case. The message regarded a situation in the City Hall District. He wondered why Sawyer wasn't giving details over the radio. A 'situation' was an ambiguous term that could describe anything from a drunk and disorderly to a recent homicide, and he knew that no self respecting police officer used it often, because it was so multifaceted. Maggie Sawyer was a good cop, not to mention Captain of the MCU – she wouldn't use such a term unless there was something she didn't want to divulge. The question was; was Sawyer keeping something hidden because of her own devices, or was she doing it on orders from Gordon?

Gordon's office was within the City Hall building, and the Gotham Courts were just across the street, housing the District Attorney, among others. This meant that two of Deadshot's would-be victims were located within a very short distance of each other. Knowing Gordon, Bruce knew that he would try to see to it that D.A Harper weren't in danger. Jim Gordon was not one to seek out conflict, but their cooperation had a tendency to lead him towards the most dangerous of criminals. Bruce regretted the fact, but also knew that he could not do without the support Gordon continuously gave him.

He would have to see what this was about. At the moment what he really wanted to do was see Connie, in person, or at least talk to her. He had no reason to question Alfred's assessment, but it was his fault she had ended up in this mess to begin with…He wished he could somehow apologize. But Floyd Lawton was still out there, and if he really was in the City Hall District, that would get ugly. Connie would have to wait. She was safe for now, and that was the most important thing.

"Alfred, I have to go. There's something going on at City Hall…It could be Lawton."

Alfred, bless him, tried to persuade his master to let the police handle it, and instead come home and get some rest, but, true to form Bruce brushed the butler's concern aside. His wounds were stitched up – badly, but it would hold, and if Gordon was in trouble, he owed it to him to help.

* * *

The City Hall District was bustling, as always, and as Gordon crossed the street from City Hall to the Gotham Courts Building, he wondered what was going to happen once he got to D.A Harper's office. He tried to remind himself that she could have called him over for something harmless, like discussing a testimony or a case file, or something else related to an upcoming trial, but he didn't manage to convince himself. He replayed their short conversation over and over again in his head, and the more he analyzed it, the more apparent the irregularities became. Alex Harper just didn't usually sound like that over the phone.

It could be a different threat that had shaken her, he thought. Being the D.A for Gotham City wasn't a very grateful job, and threats, usually serious, came with the territory. But Harper had so far showed an ability to handle them with a mix of caution and professionalism that he thought was quite admirable. No, it had to be something major, to shake her up like this. Like an assassin lying in wait.

He took the front steps to the court house two at a time, and hurried inside. D.A Harper's secretary seemed surprised to see him, when he stood in front of her desk, panting from the exertion, but she offered him a kind smile and told him to walk straight in. He slowed his pace, and tried to calm himself while walking the short distance from the secretary's desk to the office door. Slowly, he drew his gun partially from its holster and opened the door.

There was no one inside save Alex Harper herself. Whatever hit man or assassin he had expected to see, wasn't there. But there was something off about Alex Harper. She stood, as if frozen, behind her desk, her eyes blank with tears. He looked around to see if he could spot the source of her apparent distress, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The office and everything in it looked exactly as he remembered from previous visits. It was a spacious room, with large windows on two sides, and old, dark wooden paneling. With Alexandra Harper's residency, it had acquired a strange mix of old and modern. The large white-backed computer screen that took up an entire corner of her desk, along with a sleek keyboard and mouse, looked oddly out of place in an environment that still smelled of dust and a lifetime of crime and corruption. The desk and the bookshelves were remnants of the old era, made of camphor wood, and probably as old as the court house itself, dating back to the time of Solomon Wayne and his peers. He could still smell a faint trace of camphor in the room, and wondered how long it would linger.

As he was about to ask Harper what was wrong, she beat him to it, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Jim…I'm so sorry."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, and he was about to ask what on earth she was getting at, when the phone rang, and she quickly, before he had a chance to say anything, picked up and pressed what he could only assume to be the speakerphone button. Gordon found his assumption was correct, when a somewhat tinny, yet distinctly male voice echoed loudly from the speaker.

"Well done, Counselor. I appreciate your help. You've just made this a whole lot easier for both of us."

There was a flash of defiance in Alex Harper's eyes, and she looked as though she wanted to say something harsh, but Gordon cut in before she had the chance.

"Who the hell is this? What's going on here?"

The voice sounded very pleased as Gordon's interruption, as if this was what it had been waiting for.

"Hello Commissioner," it continued.

"My name is Floyd Lawton."


	14. The Killer Elite

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters from the Batman Universe belong to DC Comics, the movie rights belong to Warner Brothers...none of it belongs to me, except for Connie Tate and original characters associated with her, because I created them. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's note: **I said I'd do my best to not leave you hanging for four months... I lied. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I've had a very busy summer (activities included school exams, working and moving house), and thus didn't have much time to write, which is why this took me so long. If it makes you feel any better, this is probably the longest chapter of any story I've ever posted - I hope that's some comfort. There's an epilogue coming, to tie up the remaining loose ends, but this is the last full scale chapter of Cloak and Dagger. I have some plans for another sequel...is that in any way interesting, or should I just call this quits and shut up for the foreseeable future?

On another note, what did you guys think of the Dark Knight Rises trailer? I admit to fangirl-squealing when I saw it, although it left me with a thousand more questions. Not to mention the reports on the filming... I managed to keep away from them for all of five seconds, so my mind is now all over the place with regards to what I think will actually happen in TDKR.  
Anyway, back to the story. Read and enjoy and please, please, please leave a review! :)

ETA: This chapter has been beta'ed, but my beta admitted to being so caught up in the action that she might have missed some errors. If you spot any while reading, let me know and I'll edit them out. Chances are they're mostly typos of some kind

* * *

"What do you want?"

The Commissioner's voice seemed to echo in the dead silence in the room. Another moment of absolute quiet followed his question, before Floyd Lawton replied;

"It's not about what I want, Commissioner. It's about what I'm paid to do. We all know why I'm here."

"Then why aren't we both dead?"

While he spoke, Gordon surveyed the room, and the view from the windows. He couldn't see any trace of the sniper, but then again, he hadn't really expected Lawton to be so obvious.

"Don't strain your eyes, Commissioner. You won't see me."

Lawton sounded like he was enjoying himself.

"As for your question, the straight answer is that I'm bored. All these kills…they've been so easy, not challenging at all. So, I decided, why not have some fun? I'm going to give you one hour. If Gotham's Finest can find me within an hour, I'll surrender…if not, they'll be looking for a new Police Commissioner and District Attorney by morning."

The call disconnected, and Gordon and Harper stared at each other, a mixture of shock and disbelief on their faces.

"My God…" Harper stuttered after a while.

"What are we going to do?"

"We wait." Gordon replied.

He knew the words sounded harsh, but he couldn't bring himself to lie. In an effort to soften his approach, he slowly walked across the room to her side, and pulled out the desk chair for her.

"Here, have a seat…"

She turned her head to look at him, and the horrified expression in her eyes caused a small smile to cross his lips.

"Sit down, Counselor. He's not going to kill you for moving…"

She looked at him for a moment longer, then hurriedly sat down, as if she was afraid Lawton would kill her in mid-motion. But nothing happened. He saw her breathe a sigh of relief, and when he moved around her desk to take the chair on the opposite side of it he saw her look at him with a grateful look in her eyes.

"Tell me how this happened." Gordon urged.

* * *

"Bullock…"

"Bullock!"

Harvey Bullock was forcefully dragged out of a daze by the persistent voice of his partner. His eyes slowly focused on Georgina Reed, sitting next to him. They were both holed up in a tiny room filled with computer monitors, staring at the screens, hoping to make sense of the virtual spider's web of communications on them. Accompanying them was computer technician with the MCU, John Adams.

"You know, this would probably go a lot faster if you weren't sleeping your way through it." Georgina remarked sarcastically as Bullock rubbed his eyes.

"Faster for you or faster for me?" Bullock asked.

"Haha, funny," Georgina grimaced, before adding a moment later;

"Captain Sawyer just called, told us to try and hurry things along. She wouldn't give me details, but mumbled something about Gordon getting himself in trouble, all the while making it perfectly clear that we need something on this guy."

The mention of Gordon seemed to sharpen Bullock's concentration somewhat, and he straightened in his chair. Georgina turned back to the screens with a satisfied look in her eyes.

After a moment, she addressed Adams.

"Anything?"

Adams shrugged.

"Well…yeah. I got transaction records, account numbers, names…though most of those are fake, I'd wager."

"Of the clients maybe," Georgina said,

"But the reason we found this guy in the first place was because he used his real name…"

"That's what I don't get about this guy…" Adams chimed in.

"I mean, this is a guy who is smart enough not to leave any forensic evidence, who can make his way into practically any building undetected…for all intents and purposes he's the perfect hitman. So, why on earth would he be stupid enough to use his own name for his part in every transaction? He's made so much money; he could have a thousand aliases, making it at least ten times as difficult for us to track him down. Now…it's like he wants to get caught."

"You're right…"

Georgina seemed to measure her words before speaking.

"Adams…is there any way you could sort out the clients? Which is which, I mean?"

"I probably could, but, as opposed to Lawton himself, his clients all used aliases. I did some basic research on some of them, and came up blank…"

"Okay…but the recent murders, they would have to be among the most recent transactions, right? I mean, there's no point in taking payment months in advance for a hit…and payment after the fact is risky at best, not something a pro like Lawton would do…"

"Yeah, I agree…" Adams started,

"But the problem is: there are about fifty accounts here, different banks in different countries, but all attached to Lawton's name somehow."

Georgina exhaled slowly, ignoring Bullock who had apparently forgotten how important this was and gone back to dozing in his chair.

"Okay…so we start cross referencing the dates… Let's start with…when was the first murder?"

"April 12th," Bullock shot in. Georgina turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised, but by then Bullock had drifted off again, and didn't seem inclined to participate further.

"April 12th." Georgina repeated.

"So, let's check the movements on each of the accounts starting on the 11th and through to the 13th…"

Adams nodded, and began quickly pressing keys on the keyboard in front of him. After a moment several new windows popped up.

"Fifteen of the accounts show activity in that time." Adams announced.

"Fifteen? Damn…the guy keeps busy."

"Okay… check those accounts for activity in the 48-hour space of the next murder."

"You're looking for overlap?"

"Yeah. I figure, if we can track the movements to one account, we can cut off his access…Right?"

"I could do that…" Adams admitted.

"But it wouldn't be strictly legal, would it…?"

He shot a sideways glance at Georgina, and smiled knowingly.

"Hacking into FBI records…definitely not. But I don't know any other way about this."

There was silence for a while; Adams and Georgina were both staring at the screens in front of them.

"What makes you think he'd have all the money from this killing spree in the same account?" Bullock growled from his chair, clearly impatient.

"I don't know, okay?"

Georgina rose suddenly from her chair and turned on her partner, fed up of being second guessed.

"It's a hunch…I'm just… I am _trying_ to figure out a way to get to this guy. If you've got a better idea right now, I'd love to hear it!"

Bullock didn't reply, but shrugged and rose from his chair and turned to leave the room. Georgina took the opportunity to roll her eyes in exasperation. She caught a glimpse of Adams smiling out of the corner of her eye, but didn't say anything, despite the urge to, and Adams wisely kept his eyes on the screens and didn't say anything.

"Keep going." Georgina said after a while.

"The next murder took place on the 17th."

Georgina was about to rejoin John Adams at the desk, but stopped for a moment, suddenly acutely aware of the feeling that someone was watching her. She waited for another moment, but when nothing happened she shrugged it off and sat down again. She thought she saw a flicker of something out of the corner of her eye, a dark shadow that hadn't been there before, but when she looked closer it was already gone. If it was even there to begin with.

* * *

Captain Maggie Sawyer was out of the car almost before it had come to a complete halt, and took the steps leading to the Courthouse two at a time. A few steps behind her followed Josephine MacDonald, and, in a separate car, fellow MCU detectives Josh Azeveda and Marcus Driver. All of them were aware that, although they had tried to keep things as ambiguous as they could on the radio, in order to avoid a panic, more police officers would undoubtedly show up. There was always someone who wanted to play the hero.

Sawyer continued through the corridors and flatly ignored the protests of Alexandra Harper's secretary, who by now had started to grow suspicious of the traffic into the D.A's office.

Slowly, with one hand on her sidearm, and backed by the other MCU detectives, Sawyer pushed open the door. Scanning the room, she saw Gordon and the D.A, but no one else.

"Jim? What's going on?"

Gordon held up a hand to stop them all from approaching.

"Don't come in. Lawton's watching this room…he's threatening to kill us both, if we can't find a way to stop him within the hour."

Gordon gestured to Alex Harper as well as himself, and for the first time the implications of Lawton's threat hit home.

Sawyer saw this, and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"We'll figure something out, Jim. I've got Bullock and Reed digging through the FBI files…"

He knew that Sawyer told him this to make him feel better, but he couldn't help but feel that it might not make much of a difference. He knew Bullock was a good cop, when push came to shove, and Reed certainly had potential, but he would have liked not to have to trust either of them with his life, and that of an innocent woman.

His thoughts went to the Batman. He thought that the mysterious vigilante that had been haunting his city like a ghost for the better part of two years, and how, strangely enough, the two of them had come to depend on each other. It was a mutual dependency that neither of them had any inclination to discuss, but it was very much present. And Jim Gordon couldn't help but wonder if the city's dark knight would, or even could help him out of the mess he now found himself in.

* * *

The dark knight in question sat hidden behind one of the outer columns that decorated the façade of the clock tower in Gotham's old town. Beneath him, the tower clock struck one, and he saw the lunch time crowds vane and disappear back into the buildings that would likely house them for a few more hours, until the working day was over. But the streets below weren't his main concern. The rooftops surrounding the City Hall District were. Floyd Lawton had to be hiding on one of them…but which one? A skilled sniper's most dangerous asset was that he had the skill necessary to execute an assassination from a distance. Batman, although he had never, and would never use a firearm, could appreciate the dedication it took to perfect such a skill. He scoured the skyline, trying to decide which buildings would provide ideal cover to take out two people quickly, at long range, all the while providing a fairly inconspicuous escape route.

Wayne Tower was out. The building rose at least a dozen stories over any of the surrounding buildings, and the angle of its roof in relation to the courthouse was too steep to be a good spot for a sniper. There were almost certainly other buildings within shooting distance more suited to lie in wait.

The longest successful sniper kill ever recorded had the sniper a mile and a half from his target. Batman had no doubt that Floyd Lawton could perhaps stretch that another good five hundred yards under the right conditions, but he doubt the man would risk it. A shot like that left a plethora of variables, and all of them had to be just right for the shot to be successful. The main problem was of course factoring for wind speed and direction, which could be very tricky in an urban environment like Gotham, due to the fact that some of the taller buildings in the area, such as Wayne Tower could develop their own micro weather systems in certain conditions. Then, there was calculating the angle at which the shot would need to be fired in order for its trajectory to correspond with the target, not to mention factoring for the bullets loss of speed in relation to the distance it travelled.

A mile-and-a-half shot would mean that the bullet would be travelling for approximately six seconds through the air, from being fired to hitting its intended target.

_A lot can happen in six seconds_, the Batman thought ruefully.

No, he doubted that Lawton would risk a record breaking shot. But even with a shot within the normal capabilities of a sniper could be taken from about a mile away, which still left Lawton with plenty of possibilities, and plenty of escape routes. Batman cursed the fact that he had not been able to put a trace on Lawton, but then again, a man like Lawton probably knew many, if not most of the effective ways to recognize a trace and remove it. So a trace might not have done him any good at this point anyway.

No, the only way to catch this sniper would be to think like one. So, if you were going to kill two people in an office at the Court House, where would you position yourself?

The thought that he had set to achieve an almost impossible task had occurred to him, but, as he had reminded himself hundreds, if not thousands of times before, nothing was impossible. To Bruce Wayne, some things may be, but to Batman…nothing. There was nothing he couldn't do; nowhere he couldn't be… at least, he had to believe that. The words of Ra's al Ghul echoed in his mind:

"…_If you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can't stop you, then you become something else entirely."_

"_Which is?"_

He didn't know if Ra's had been right. At first, he had firmly believed it, but now, after having seen what an unscrupulous madman had done to his city, he was no longer sure. Still, he forced himself to believe that today, he could, and would make a difference. And so, in his mind, he started to run through the map of Gotham City, starting from the outskirts and working his way towards the City Hall district. He visualized every building that was tall enough to validate a possible shot at the Courthouse, quickly ruling out some, while dwelling longer on others. After a while, he had narrowed the likely locations down to three Downtown buildings: Sheal Industrial and the Prewitt Building. Both were a considerable distance away from Lawton's two targets, but had a construction which both gave them good angles for this kind of sniper shot.

The Prewitt Building was located across the river to the north, in midtown, just about a mile away from the court house as the crow flies. But the winds were particularly unpredictable in that part of the city because of its proximity to the river. Batman knew that from experience. The same treacherous gusts that would support him one minute would plunge him towards the streets below the next, and could wreak similar havoc on a precision rifle shot. Floyd Lawton would know that too, and he doubted that the professional hitman would bother with the risk of killing someone else entirely. Not chiefly because it would mean killing an innocent bystander, but because Floyd Lawton operated after his own brand of ethics. The paid hits were the only ones that interested him. Once he had received payment for a hit, he would go out of his way to fulfill his end of the deal, but his sole focus was the unfortunate individual who had caused one of his or her enemies enough grief to warrant a hit. He wasn't a crazed mass murderer, happy to kill anyone in his path.

Batman had no doubt that Deadshot could kill for pleasure, if threatened or forced, and he suffered no illusions in regards to the peril his own life would be in, if he managed to find and engage Lawton.

The Prewitt Building was out. That left Sheal Industrial. That building too was located in Midtown, where the Liberty River curved to the east and became the Gotham River, and north-west of the Downtown City Hall District, and the court house.

He called up the image of the rooftop to his inner eye. The building was old, the grey concrete rooftop darkened by muck and grime from the industrial buildings that used to be along the riverbank. Most of the factories and processing plants had long since been outsourced and abandoned, but their skeletons still stood there as a ghostly reminder of Gotham's industrial glory days.

Sheal Industrial rose above the others, as a dilapidated monument to the previous owner's one time ambition of financial success. Batman had used the building as a vantage point over the west side of Midtown countless times. He envisioned the heavy steel doors that led from the rooftop down into the building below, the three air conditioning units that were scattered seemingly at random on the rooftop…but most of all, he envisioned the view of the skyline. He envisioned how the white, domed roof of the Gotham Courthouse itself was clearly visible across the river to the east. The more recently constructed office building next to it, which held the office of the District Attorney, would be an easy target for an assassin who knew where to aim.

It would be a difficult shot, of course, and it would have required some calculating research, finding out where D.A Harper had her office. But for Floyd Lawton, difficult was all in a day's work, and the impossible was nothing more than a welcome challenge.

Yes, Batman concluded to himself. It had to be Sheal Industrial.

He pulled a device from his utility belt and punched a few keys. Two of the detectives, Bullock and Reed had been holed up with the techs trying to find the weak spot in Deadshot's armor. He didn't know if they would succeed, but they were closer to Sheal Industrial than the officers currently at the Court House.

It was a dangerous move. If things went awry, Lawton would have the chance to kill all three of them. But he was running out of options. Gordon was a hostage now, and thus unable to relay information to his officers. He needed someone else to know where Floyd Lawton was hiding…if, indeed, he was taking his shot from Sheal Industrial. He didn't trust Bullock, and he knew the man wanted nothing more than to put him behind bars. But Bullock was fiercely loyal to Jim Gordon, for whatever reason, and at the moment that would have to do. He wasn't sure what to make of Reed. She seemed like a fairly capable young officer, but she was inexperienced, and could be frightened into submission, as Lawton had proven earlier. But Gordon had to have seen something in her too…otherwise he would never have allowed her to be a part of Major Case, even temporarily.

He would have to show faith. After about two years spent haunting Gotham at night, that was a continuous struggle, and if his pursuits had been of a less determined nature to begin with, he would have lost faith in his city a long time ago.

Determined now, he quickly launched himself from behind the Clock Tower pillars, and let the winds of the city guide him towards Sheal Industrial.

* * *

Things were finally looking a little less hopeless. Just when Georgina Reed had been about to give up on the crime scene tech next to her, John Adams came through – big time. After forty-five minutes of agonizingly comparing account traffic to account information, he'd found a match. But, just as Georgina felt a small amount of satisfaction well up within her, Bullock re-entered the room, and his expression immediately alarmed her.

"Reed. I need a word with you. _Now_."

She straightened, and her expression turned to a frown as she followed him out into the hallway.

"What's going on?" She asked, just as the door clicked shut behind her.

"I just got a call from Sawyer," Bullock began, his voice no longer the bored drawl she had heard earlier.

"Gordon is held hostage at the D.A's office. Lawton called in a threat, saying he's giving us one hour to find him before he takes a shot at the Commish."

Georgina's mouth fell open as he spoke.

"I haven't gotten to the worst part yet," Bullock continued.

"That call came in fifty minutes ago."

"So unless this is some kind of hoax…" Georgina began.

"Gordon will be dead in ten minutes." Bullock finished for her.

They both fell silent, except for Georgina muttering a curse under her breath. After a moment, Bullock spoke again.

"Come on, we have to get down there!"

Bullock reached out to grab her arm, possibly in an effort to further underline the seriousness of the situation, but before he came that far, Georgina had disappeared back into the room they both had emerged from a couple of minutes earlier.

"Hey!" Bullock called after her, before turning to follow.

"What are you doing? We don't have time for this!"

When he re-entered the room, he saw Georgina straightening after having said something to Adams, who nodded in agreement.

Georgina turned and looked at Bullock.

"We've had to work for days to even get at this," She gave an absentminded gesture to the screens behind her.

"I'm not leaving without some kind of proof."

Harvey was about to say something to argue when one of the techs leaned over and put a sheet of paper in Georgina's hands. She nodded a quick thanks, and headed back out of the room, brushing past Bullock on her way.

Bullock shook his head in quiet exasperation, but followed suit.

A few moments later, Bullock skidded the car onto the road heading for the West Harlow Bridge, lights blazing and sirens blaring. Reed sat in the passenger seat trying to process what was now happening. She had no idea what would meet them once they got to the Courthouse. Would Gordon be dead? She hoped not. But she didn't see how they could stop him…Lawton, Deadshot, whatever his name… And though Bullock seemed suddenly hell bent on getting to the Courthouse in time, she had no idea what he thought he could achieve. She knew he was deeply loyal to Jim Gordon, but unless he was planning on throwing himself in the line of fire, she couldn't see how that made any difference to either of them at the moment.

Her phone rang sharply, ripping her unceremoniously from her own thoughts. She cursed loudly at it, thinking that whoever it was, they could not have picked a worse possible time. She forcibly pressed the answer button, ready to tear the person on the other end a new one, but as she brought the receiver to her ear, what she heard through the blaring of the sirens made the words stick in her mouth.

* * *

The rooftop of Sheal Industrial was not, by far, the most pleasant place in Gotham. The concrete was chipped and cracked, the metal railings rusted into oblivion, and all of it was still wet from a recent shower of rain. The moisture caused a musty and somewhat rotten smell to seemingly emanate from the building itself. After a few hours, the smell, whatever it was, was firmly lodged in his nostrils, and a part of him wanted to gag, and preferably leave the building far behind.

But he couldn't. This was business, after all, and he was serious about his business. His client had, however, failed to tell him that he couldn't have a bit of fun as well. What he had told the Commissioner had been true. The killings he had completed, even when he had ended the life of the Assistant District Attorney, had been routine and as such, boring. He had even thought about refusing another contract from the client, citing that he would only deal in the extraordinary. Whether his clients wanted the extraordinary difficult, the extraordinarily flashy, or to send an extraordinary message of some sort didn't concern him. But his talents were unique. He was, by account of those who had any notoriety to speak of, the most dangerous man in the world, and for all those who knew what kind of dangers that _really_ lurked in modern society, that was saying something.

So when his client had promised him an assignment of increasing difficulty, that would culminate in a murder to truly match his skill set, he had been intrigued, and after he had told what the payment would be, he had accepted. But so far, his contracts had proved to be more than a little boring, and the grandest of them all, the chance to take a shot at Gotham's mysterious Caped Crusader, had so far been denied him, for whatever reason. So, he had decided on a little game, just to see how high the Gotham Police Department would go if he said 'jump'.

He had been watching the Courthouse with renewed interest for almost an hour. His threat had started them off rather slowly, with only a few police officers arriving, but now, as the rumor had no doubt spread throughout the department, the courthouse was practically crawling with law enforcement. The truly sad part was, of course, that it would not help the Commissioner or the District Attorney at all. In a few minutes, they would be dead.

He watched the spectacle for a while longer, before he began to ready himself. If he timed everything correctly, he could take them both out with a single shot. It would be easy, he told himself. Just like all the others…

What Floyd Lawton didn't know, and did not even suspect, was that while he was busy watching what went on at the Courthouse, waiting for the right time to strike, someone else was targeting him.

The Batman sat crouched behind one of the towering air conditioning vents, he too waiting for just the right moment. He watched Lawton's every motion intently, knowing perfectly well that unless his timing was even better than the assassin's, this could all still end very badly.

He felt the weight of the batarang in his hand, his gloved fingers recognizing every groove and dip in the metal. Countless times, he had thrown and caught these, and now he was fairly certain he could recognize one in his sleep. But the same wasn't true for the criminals he hunted, and as he lifted his arm to throw, he hoped that the batarangs would be just as effective in bringing Lawton off-target as they were with most others.

What followed was an exhibition of timing so exquisite it was beyond what normal, untrained people would even recognize. A fraction of a second before Lawton squeezed the trigger, the batarang curved in the air, and struck the rifle barrel from the side, just as the shot was fired.

Lawton, though unprepared, immediately twisted around and abandoned the rifle. Batman had also abandoned his hiding place, and leapt forward in order to get to Lawton before he could get away. He needn't have worried, because it seemed Lawton wasn't giving up without a fight.

Lawton blatantly disregarded the very idea of flight, and instead spun around, both arms aimed towards the vaguely bat-like shape that came flying towards him. It was only then, as the bullets began flying, that Batman fully realized that Deadshot armory did not end at his sniper rifle. He now found himself under fire from two silenced, wrist-mounted, semi-automatic guns that glimmered dangerously silver in the light of early afternoon.

The world seemed to slow down, stop even, as the Batman encountered a hail of bullets. He could feel some graze him, some tearing holes in his cape as they whizzed past him, some bounced off or embedded themselves in the Kevlar of his armor, while others found their way through, into his flesh. But he couldn't stop. Now that he had, somewhat foolishly, given away his cover, his long range attacks would be close to useless. He had to get in close, get past the bullets and the guns, so close that he could put his hands around the mercenary's neck.

He put all the weight he could behind the impact, as he collided with Lawton, knocking them both to the ground.

"And I thought you would never track me down." Lawton quipped, as he hit the concrete, kneeing his attacker in the chest in an effort to break free.

"I would never let a madman like you run around unchecked in this city." Batman countered, resisting the force of the kick and pinning Lawton to the ground.

"I'm the madman?" Lawton asked incredulously, but not without a touch of wicked humor in his voice.

"I'm not the one who has let a handful of innocent people die." He finished, as if to thoroughly drive home the point.

Batman looked down, and watched as the face of the man squirming in his grasp seemed to mock him even further. Lawton was a square-jawed man, his features angular…handsome even, but his eyes were covered by red lenses, which made him look more like an insect than a man.

One punch, and the lenses shattered. Blood trickled down Lawton's face as he fought his way free with a scream of fury and agony.

* * *

In the car, Georgina Reed and Harvey Bullock exchanged glances, both equally surprised by the voices audible through Georgina's phone.

"That's…" Georgina began, frowning.

"Batman!" Bullock finished, almost spitting out the word, as if just one mention had left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Do you think that other guy could be Lawton?" Georgina asked, but she could tell by the look on Bullock's face that he was already thinking the same as her – that it probably was.

"Should we go after them?" Georgina continued.

Bullock seemed to consider for a moment, slowed his driving down to normal speed, and threw a glance over at his partner in the passenger seat, considering whether or not he felt comfortable enough with her to attempt what they had both silently been thinking.

"If we were, how would we find them?" He asked, more to see if Georgina was keeping up than anything else.

"Give me your phone. I'll call Adams and have him put a trace on my phone to figure out where the call is coming from."

The reply came much quicker than Bullock had anticipated, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as Georgina reached for his phone in the center consol.

John Adams with the Gotham City Crime Lab was once again happy to help, and had no problem locating the signal. Within minutes, Bullock had thrown the car around, causing angry shouts and horns to be heard from the other cars on the road. Bullock seemed unfazed, and for once, focused. Georgina clung to her seat and wondered, once again, what would happen next.

The traffic lessened a great deal as they came closer to the Sheal docklands, and Bullock slowed down slightly to better navigate the narrow streets that snaked around dilapidated buildings. Georgina watched as the ragged people who had their homes on the streets scattered in front of them, and thought to herself that if this was better than what she had seen on the Crown Point beat, it was only marginally so.

They drove into what must once have been a prosperous industrial area, and Adam's voice directed them to a building that was close to the center of it. Bullock pulled the car to a stop, and he and Georgina got out.

The smell that hit them both was putrid, a mix of garbage, rust and the salty air from the sea. Georgina almost gagged, but managed to get a hold of herself. She watched Bullock for a lead on what to do, and when he slowly approached the building, she followed.

Just as she was about to remark on how odd it was that no sound was audible, a gunshot pierced the air, then another, and another in quick succession. Their eyes met, and he gave her a quick nod to pull her weapon, a 9mm semi-automatic, before doing the same himself.

His weapon was a .357 revolver, what had been standard issue when he had entered the Force years ago. It felt heavy, and he couldn't help but feel a little more secure now that he had the weapon in his hand.

Reed had come up alongside him now, and they exchanged another glance, before both focusing on the doorway in front of them. Both noticed straight away that they would have no problem getting in. The door in front of them had all but fallen off its hinges, and there were large holes where the metal had rusted away completely.

Reed, going in first, carefully eased her body in through the largest hole in the door. Bullock, coming in after, was less subtle, and decided he would rather knock the door completely off its hinges than bother to bend his knees. Reed turned sharply at this, but said nothing beyond sending him an exasperated look. The gunshots had come from high above, so, without a word to each other, they began the arduous climb towards the roof.

As they climbed, neither Reed nor Bullock said anything, but both felt the tension grow as they came closer. The sound of more gunshots reached them, and as both officers froze to listen, Reed realized that the two combatants must be on the roof itself.

The door to the roof itself had fared somewhat better than its counterpart at the entrance to the building, but it was still rusted, and there was no way they could enter without drawing attention to themselves. Reed reached the door first, but waited, suddenly scared of what was going to happen on the other side. Bullock came up beside her, and the two of them exchanged glances.

"I'll go first." Bullock said. Georgina hesitated for a moment, then nodded, taking a hurried breath to steady herself.

The two of them locked eyes as he positioned himself in front, and she to his right. In the half-light of the room she saw him give a silent count by nodding his head.

One.

Two.

Three.

Bullock threw his massive frame at the door, which gave way easily, causing daylight to burst through, almost blinding Georgina as she followed him. She blinked furiously to try and get her eyes used to the sudden change, but for the first few seconds she went by the sound of Bullock's booming voice shouting:

"GCPD, drop your weapons!"

Just as Georgina's eyes got used to the light, she found herself face to face with Floyd Lawton for the first time. He was tall, with a lean build, dark hair and dark eyes. His face, and particularly the area around his right eye was bloodied, and she could see what looked like shards of red glass or plastic protruding from several cuts. Nevertheless, he was smiling.

"Well, if it isn't Gotham's finest."

There was a faint, but very noticeable trace of arrogance in his voice.

"And Officer Georgina Reed as well…" He added, almost as an afterthought.

Georgina gripped her gun tighter.

"I do hope I didn't scare you the other night, running into you like that at the A.D.A's house."

He was grinning now, obviously enjoying himself.

"Drop the gun." Georgina said, with as much authority as she could muster, nodding towards the weapon he was still holding. As she eyed the firearm, she noticed that his wrists were bruised and bloodied too, as if something had been ripped forcibly off them.

Lawton followed her nod with his eyes, as if he just now noticed that he still had something in his hand. In what appeared to be an automatic gesture he lifted his hand, but Georgina's eyes flared and she raised her weapon half an inch in response.

"No. There are two ways this can go down, and either way you're dropping the gun."

Lawton's eyes widened in surprise, but then he smiled again.

"Well, Officer Reed, it seems I misjudged you…there's some guts behind that angel face after all."

Slowly, he let the gun drop down his side, and then he crouched down, first with one knee, then the other. Finally, he placed his hands behind his head, one at a time.

Georgina and Bullock exchanged hurried glances, both surprised at this turn of events.

"'Cuff him." Bullock ordered, his eyes moving quickly back to his own suspect.

Georgina stepped carefully towards Lawton, who was now eyeing her with casual interest. She hesitated for a moment, seeing the damage to his wrists, but quickly decided that she couldn't afford to pity him, and pulled out her handcuffs.

"Floyd Lawton, you are under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?"

"I do."

To say that Georgina was surprised at this turn of events would be an understatement. She was baffled. Especially since Lawton, with his height of over six feet, not to mention his training, could have fought with her, and probably won. As she commanded him on his feet, her guard was as high as it would go. Again, she exchanged glances with Bullock, who watched Lawton from out of the corner of his eye, like her looking for any sign that he wasn't about to give up as easily as it seemed.

When he was satisfied that Lawton wouldn't try to escape, Bullock turned back to his own suspect. He found nothing but air.

"Goddammit!"

Georgina turned sharply, but she had already guessed, at least partially, what had happened. Bullock stood for a few moments muttering curses under his breath before resignedly turning around to join her in escorting Floyd Lawton to lock-up.

* * *

A shockwave washed over the Gotham Police Department when the call came in that washed up Detective Harvey Bullock and rookie Officer Georgina Reed had been the ones to apprehend Floyd Lawton. As they entered the GCPD Central Holding facility, the buzzing of voices increased in volume, and Reed looked around in wonder. It seemed that everyone who could make up a remotely plausible excuse to be on duty at the time had, because she had never once seen Central Holding this crowded. Floyd Lawton seemed to enjoy the attention, because he flashed a smile at several of the officers, which caused them to shrink away in surprise and disgust.

"Keep walking." Bullock growled, leading the other man towards the holding cells.

There was an odd silence as Floyd Lawton entered the cell that had been emptied just for him. His temporary neighbors: drug dealers, prostitutes, robbers...the usual suspects, seemed ill at ease with his presence. He had an air of eloquence about him that, despite his bloodied face and torn clothes, made him frightening in a cold, distant way none of them were accustomed to.

As the cell door slammed shut, the other officers on duty gradually lost interest. In his cell, Floyd Lawton was just another criminal, now harmless behind bars. That didn't stop Bullock from enjoying the attention of his colleagues. Most of them were already familiar with him, in one way or another, but Georgina was unfamiliar to most, and thus, she blended easily into the background. It didn't bother her. She didn't feel as if her actions merited the kind of attention Bullock was currently basking in. Nine innocent people were dead, and their killer sat in front of her, relaxed, not a trace of regret in any of his features.

"Officer Reed."

Their eyes met, and Floyd Lawton rose from his seat and walked right up to the cell bars. Without really thinking, she rose from her seat and approached him.

"Your partner seems to think that this is over." Lawton remarked, with a nod towards Bullock, who stood in conversation with a pair of other officers some distance away.

"But you and I know different, don't we?"

Lawton paused.

"I don't quit, Officer Reed."

He smiled what would have been a charming smile in any other situation.

"You've probably read about me…that I'm a suicidal maniac who just kills for the thrill of it. It's not true. It's just what I'm good at. And I'm not suicidal. If I wanted to be dead I would be…I just don't care."

"I think you should save your speech for arraignment." Georgina replied.

"I'd love to see how a judge reacts to what you just said."

"Do you really think I'll get that far, Reed? This cell isn't going to keep me in… I'll just slip through the cracks. And then, your Commissioner will have to pay with his life."

"How's that?" Reed asked, feigning curiosity.

"I signed a contract, Officer. I never give up on a hit I've received payment for."

Now it was Reed's turn to smile. Slowly, she reached into the pocket of her uniform shirt and pulled out the sheet she had received from John Adams earlier.

"Well, if it's Gordon you're after, you'll certainly have your chance later. I heard some whispers that you'll have the pleasure of being interrogated by the Commissioner himself, along with Captain Sawyer."

She paused for effect before continuing.

"But I should perhaps inform you that we've frozen your funds. So, _technically_, you haven't been paid…"

The smile that had played around Lawton's lips disappeared, but her revelation didn't seem to anger or even agitate him. He looked at the paper that she had unfolded in front of him, without bothering to conceal the recognition on his face.

"Well played… Officer."

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lawton."

* * *

The Gotham media had a field day with Floyd Lawton's arrest, and for the next week or so the headlines were filled with reports of the Gotham Police Department's hunt for the cold-blooded assassin. Bullock and Reed were hounded with phone calls and requests for interviews, many of which Bullock accepted. Reed tried her best to avoid as many as she could, but she too was cornered and coerced into commenting on a few occasions. But a few weeks after the arrest, when most of the media interest had died down, she was called into the Commissioner's office.

Georgina didn't really know what to expect when she was shown into Gordon's office. Since Lawton's capture, she had returned to work as a patrol officer.

"Officer Reed… come and have a seat."

Gordon looked up from his paperwork, and met her gaze with a half smile. His glasses were slightly askew on his nose and his light blue shirt had the top two buttons undone, his tie lay discarded in a pile on the edge of the desk. He looked relaxed, and friendly as always, but Georgina couldn't bring herself to relax just yet.

"Commissioner."

She crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"How's life back on patrol?" He asked.

Georgina shrugged, and smiled.

"It's okay. The hustlers up in Crown Point are up to their usual tricks."

Gordon nodded in recognition.

"But not the same as working in the MCU?"

She shook her head, making her ginger curls dance around her face.

"Nah…not a lot of assassins in Bowery and the Point, thankfully."

"You know, I spoke to Detective MacDonald. She had some good things to say about you, how you handled yourself in MCU…So, Captain Sawyer and I had a talk, and we thought we would offer you the chance to return there on a more permanent basis."

"A transfer?" Georgina heard her shocked voice ask.

Gordon nodded, and his eyes seemed to twinkle with a sort of mischievous delight at her expression.

"There's a catch…" He began.

Georgina's excited expression faded slightly, but not enough to deter her.

"Okay?"

At that moment, Harvey Bullock burst unceremoniously through the door.

"You wanted to see me, Commissioner?"

Gordon, with a look up at Bullock, smiled, before turning his eyes back to Georgina.

"You'd have to put up with him."

He indicated Bullock with a nod, and Georgina turned on reflex to look at the man behind her. Bullock looked confused for a moment, but then he seemed to pick up on something, because he met Georgina's eyes and smiled one of his wolfish grins. Georgina smiled too.

"I can do that." She replied confidently.

* * *

From the comfort and privacy of his manor, Bruce Wayne had followed the news with interest. After all, he had to do something while recovering from that _dreadful_ car accident. At least, that was the rumor. Gotham's glitterati greatly enjoyed speculating and gossiping about Bruce Wayne's poor driving skills. Had he been drunk again? A patron of the Iceberg Lounge swore that he had seen Wayne stagger to his car that night in the company of two beautiful young women, and as the days went by no fewer than six Gotham socialites claimed to have been one of the two beauties in the car with him. So, when the invitations to one of Bruce Wayne's parties went out a couple of weeks after, most of Gotham's upper social circles accepted, if only to get a chance to see if the city's golden boy looked any worse for wear.

Only three people in all of Gotham knew that Bruce Wayne was in fact recovering from multiple gunshot wounds. The party was a smokescreen. Bruce knew very well that the speculations would escalate beyond his driving skills if he let them, so a distraction was in order.

The night of the party, Connie slowly made her way across the stone covered square behind Wayne Manor. It was dusk, and a slight spring rain fell from a gray sky. The light from dozens of windows looked inviting, but they couldn't quench her urge to turn back. But another part of her forced her to continue. She knew she couldn't just leave things as they were; she needed some kind of closure, even if it was just for her own sake.

As she approached, the sound of voices, laughter and music reached her, but she ignored it to the best of her ability. She passed into the shadow of the house, and slipped in through the kitchen entrance.

The sounds of a party were closer now, but still distant enough that she felt comfortable looking around. The kitchen was surprisingly cozy for such a big house. She had expected a large, almost industrial looking space, but instead found a high ceilinged room with wooden paneling and a large stone fireplace that took up an entire wall. It was obvious that it was there mostly as a decorative element, but it gave the room a homely charm nonetheless. In the middle of the room was a large kitchen island topped with what looked like dark grey slate, and along the walls were cupboards and cabinets painted a soft shade of white with brass knobs and fittings.

Hesitantly, Connie pulled a brown envelope from the inside of her coat. She was still not sure that what she had planned was the best way to proceed, but on the other hand she couldn't think of a better plan. With a sigh she stepped towards the island, and was about to place the envelope there when a voice from across the room caused her to stop mid-motion.

"Miss Tate?"

Alfred Pennyworth stood in the doorway leading further into the house, impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo. A small, red streak at the corner of his eyebrow was the only physical mark after what had happened at the penthouse a few weeks before.

"Hello, Alfred."

They stood for a moment, surveying each other, before Connie crossed the room and pulled him into a hug. As she broke away, Alfred smiled warmly.

"It's good to see you, Miss Tate."

"Are you here to see Master Wayne?"

Connie looked away and shook her head.

"No…no, I don't think that would be a good idea."

She hesitated, and bit her lip seemingly considering her options.

"Alfred, would you do something for me? Would you give this to Bruce and tell him I said 'thank you'."

"Of course, but what for, Ms. Tate?"

"Everything."

She smiled now, and handed him the envelope, but her eyes were blank with tears. Before he could question her further, she gave him another hug and whispered;

"Goodbye, Alfred."

And with another quick smile, she turned to leave.

The door to the kitchen slammed shut behind her, and Connie quickened her pace, suddenly intent on getting as far away as she could as quickly as possible. The rain had intensified, echoing off the roof and between the trees. She was glad of it, because at least it helped to camouflage the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks.

Alfred had remained standing where he was, surprised by Connie's appearance and sudden departure. The envelope she had left with him felt heavy in his hand, and he caught himself wondering what it might contain.

Just as he was contemplating how best to proceed, Bruce appeared in the hallway.

"Master Wayne."

"Who was that?"

"Miss Tate, Sir. She left this for you."

"Connie was here?" Bruce asked, his voice edged with disbelief, as Alfred handed him the envelope.

"Yes, Sir. She wanted me to give you that," Alfred nodded towards the envelope in Bruce's hands.

"…and tell you she said 'thank you'…for everything."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything further. Instead, ripped open the envelope and pulled out what was inside.

The diamonds and rubies sparkled in the golden light of the hallway, and Bruce recognized it as the necklace he had given to Connie before her first party at the Manor. But there was something else there, as well… In his hand, underneath the necklace, was a brass-colored symbol, cut sharply to resemble the shape of a bat.

The message was as clear as it could ever be, and it was communicated without using a single word.

_It's over._

And.

_I know who you are._

Without another word, he pushed past Alfred and half walked, half ran through the kitchen and out of the house.

The rain hit him the second he stepped out into the courtyard, soaking his hair and clothes, but he barely noticed. His eyes were scanning the area for her, and there, some distance away on the path between the trees, leading away from the house, he could just make out her silhouette.

"Connie!"

Hunched against the rain, with the collar of her coat pulled up, she showed no sign of having heard him. Cursing under his breath, he ran after her.

"Connie!"

He was closer now. Close enough to see her stop and allow herself a moment of hesitation before continuing to walk.

"Connie!"

She couldn't continue to ignore him. Reluctantly, she stopped and turned just as he caught up to her.

"Hey…"

He couldn't deny the effect just seeing her again had on him. She was soaking wet, her dark hair hung around her face heavy with water and her black clothes clung to her body, and all he wanted to do…really wanted to do, was kiss her. But he didn't. Because, after all, how could he, after all that had happened?

"Hello, Bruce."

Her voice, though still friendly, was distant, and he caught himself thinking that she seemed different somehow.

"What's going on? What's this?"

The questions were redundant. Both of them knew perfectly well what was going on, but it was the closest way to opening up a conversation.

"I don't know, Bruce. You tell me…"

There was a pause as he tried to decide how to respond. But after a moment's hesitation, Connie continued.

"Or, you know what? Don't… I don't want to know. Let's just leave this and move on, alright?"

"Alright, wait a minute… what's going on? Why are you being so dismissive all of a sudden? What if I _want_ to explain?"

As the words crossed his lips, he couldn't believe he had actually spoken them. He had never, not once, offered to explain to anyone. Not Rachel…barely even Alfred. But he knew straight away that the words hadn't been a lie. He would explain everything to her, to the best of his ability, if that's what it took.

"Because… Because I can't do this, Bruce. I don't want to. I'm tired of this game we've been playing…"

"Connie…"

"It's not just that. I think that I've been…in denial, about some things for a while. After that whole thing with Edward Nashton, I pretended everything was okay – I went back to normal, or…I tried to. And now this…this thing with…what was his name? Floyd Lawton? And the attack…"

"Connie, listen…"

He reached out to touch her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"No, you listen. I'm leaving, Bruce. I can't do this anymore."

He fell silent, processing what she had just said.

"What?"

She sighed, and began to explain.

"Lucius probably didn't mention it to you, but a few months ago he was offered to teach a class at MIT. Of course, he couldn't accept – he's too busy making Wayne Enterprises the most influential company in the US. But after what happened to me, he suggested that I'd be a good candidate for the teaching job. MIT turned around and offered it to me…and I accepted."

Bruce stood for a moment, shocked. As he was about to say something, Connie continued:

"I've changed, Bruce…and not in a good way. I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake coming back to Gotham in the first place. I used to be comfortable walking the streets at night, even here…even in this city. But now I'm scared… So many things have happened, and I…"

She choked on her own words, and Bruce stepped forward, ignoring her attempt to protest and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

They stood like that for a while, neither of them saying anything. After a few moments, Bruce whispered.

"Are you coming back?"

Connie took a few seconds to respond, and when she did, it was with genuine uncertainty in her voice.

"I don't know."


	15. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** As always, I claim no ownership over any of the recognizable characters from the Batman mythos in any way, shape or form. The rights belong to creator Bob Kane, DC Comics, and movie rights belong to Warner Brothers. I only claim ownership over the characters I've created specifically for this set of stories. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.

**Author's Note:** It's here, at last. The final chapter of Cloak & Dagger. I had no idea it would take me nearly two and a half years to finish this story, and I would like to extend my thanks to all my readers, especially those of you who have left me reviews and stuck with me until the end. Thank you so much.

Reviews, questions, comments, suggestions and any other form of feedback is greatly appreciated, as always. So, please, leave a review, PM me, email me...send me a tweet (LiaveEkeli) if you want to, because I would love to know what you think! I would also like to know if anyone is interested in me writing a third story about Bruce and Connie? I have a few ideas, but they're only that at the moment - I haven't started thinking about plot details, characters or anything like that yet, and if no one tells me they want to read it, I might not even write/post it. I don't know what I'll do yet, but my plan is to take a break from writing 100,000 word stories and maybe write some less time-consuming one shots.

To finish off, I'd like to say that it's been an honor and a pleasure writing for you, and I hope I will see more of you around in the future. Enjoy!

* * *

"Bruce?"

The voice came from behind him, and he turned towards it, half in surprise, half in suspicion. Because the voice, he could have sworn, belonged to Connie Tate, and as far as he was aware Connie Tate was in Massachusetts, teaching advanced electronic engineering to graduate students.

But it was Connie.

Like him, she was dressed for a night out. With whom, he couldn't tell, because she was alone. She wore a long, close-fitting black dress covered in sequins. The cleavage was fairly modest, but the thigh-high split that showed glimpses of long, lean legs behind the curtain of black fabric, more than made up for it.

This, Bruce readily admitted to himself, was a far cry from the Connie he had said goodbye to six months ago. She looked very well, and it wasn't just because she was no longer soaking wet and crying. There was something else, as well...a returning sparkle in her eyes, something in her features... He didn't know what it was, but it was plain to see that the time away from Gotham had done her good, because now he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her.

"Connie? What are you doing here...?"

"I'm... I mean, I _was_ walking..."

He smiled at the whimsical response. This was the Connie he had been introduced to almost two years prior, reincarnated.

"No, I mean _here_, in Gotham... I thought you were teaching in Massachusetts?"

"My term ended...so I came home."

Her tone was casual, but there were something more behind the words. Self-insight, perhaps?

"Just like that?" Bruce asked, realizing that he was bordering on interrogating her. He was briefly reminded of what she had said to him before she left, that a part of her had come to regret settling in Gotham to begin with.

"No." She replied, her voice still relaxed. She seemed to take this borderline interrogation fairly well.

"Not just like that... but I don't see how my personal reasons are any of your business. You've obviously moved on with your life..."

"How do you figure?"

She smiled now, a genuine smile, though perhaps slightly mischievous.

"There's lipstick on your collar, Bruce."

Ah. Of course. That would be Cindy, his date for the evening. Or, at least until she abandoned him for that footballer. Money, it seemed, would only get you so far. Though, to be fair, he had shown Cindy only the slightest of interest to begin with, and her disappearing had been a relief. Especially since he now found himself face to face with Connie. He could imagine the polite, but still condescending glance she would have thrown Cindy and the way she'd climbed all over him.

"And you haven't?" He asked, in an effort to lead some of the attention away from himself. He didn't know what he hoped her answer would be.

"After a fashion." She shrugged.

"And what fashion would that be?"

There was a certain exasperation in the look she shot him now, but she answered the question.

"Blind date," she explained,

"He was a dentist."

Uttering the word 'dentist' she grimaced, and Bruce guessed that she had found the poor dentist to be a less than stellar companion. A fact that, if he was entirely honest with himself, pleased him.

As if not to be outdone, she retorted.

"Yours?"

Now it was Bruce's turn to shrug.

"Blind, deaf and dumb, unfortunately..."

Connie chuckled, almost despite herself. Then there was silence.

After a while, Bruce approached the subject that he knew were on both their minds.

"Connie...when you left, you left quite a few things unspoken, and unexplained between the two of us. And it wasn't how I wanted things to end."

Connie seemed to contemplate what he had said for a moment, before replying.

"I know, but...I was a mess when I left, Bruce. Even though I tried my best to hide it. And, well...not having an explanation, not saying anything...it just seemed easier."

"And now?"

"Now, that I have some distance, I feel I'm back on solid ground. I think that made me able to see things more clearly, and perhaps even develop some degree of understanding."

"So...if I were to ask you...what exactly you presume to know about me, then you would say?"

He took another step towards her, and in response she lowered her voice, as she would have in a private conversation.

"Then I would say that you are a man of a great many secrets, Mr. Wayne. And that you take great care not to show your true colors."

She smiled again, as if she was trying to apologize to him for stumbling upon his deepest, darkest secret.

"What I did... I played a hunch, Bruce. That's it. It was a gamble, to see if it meant anything to you...and you gave me an answer. One I half expected, but didn't quite dare to believe, until I heard you call after me..."

"What gave me away?"

She shrugged.

"It wasn't one thing... it was the little things that didn't, or sometimes did add up. Height...build...the fact that Batman's injuries seems to conjure Bruce Wayne's...and, of course, the question: What could Bruce Wayne possibly have spent seven years of his life on that no gossip column knew or cared about? How did a man like Bruce Wayne disappear?"

She paused, and their eyes met. It would never cease to amaze him just how far those eyes had the power to draw him in. Even now, when the woman stood there and more than hinted that she knew about his dual personalities, he would go to the ends of the earth for her. He was surprised at the lack of judgment in her voice as she slowly circled to the point where they both knew this was going.

"I don't have the answer, Bruce… You can look me in the eye right now and tell me I imagined everything…that you're really just a dim-witted millionaire who always just seems to be at the right place at the right time…and I'll believe you."

Now it was his turn to smile.

"No, you won't."

"Regardless…it doesn't really matter. I can keep a secret, but I'm not sure I could be with a man who has so many of them, and you've already proven that one woman isn't enough for you… so it was nice while it lasted, Bruce, but let's call it quits now, alright?"

"What if I don't want to? What if I don't want this to be over, Connie?"

"Then this will be one of the few times in recent history when Bruce Wayne doesn't get his way…"

"I refuse to believe this is as easy for you as you make it out to be."

The smile had lingered on her lips until then, disappeared, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I've almost died twice since I met you, and, although it took me a while, I've come to realize just how close I came. Not to mention that on our one and only public appearance together, you saw fit to allow another woman to crawl onto your lap and stick her tongue down your throat! So I don't see how you have the right to presume anything about my decision making."

She stepped away from him, but he quickly followed.

"I'm sorry…that didn't come out as I'd meant it."

"Nothing ever seems to…" She remarked coolly.

"I'm so sorry. About everything… Tell me what I can do to fix this."

She looked at him with exasperation.

"God, Bruce…you still don't get it? There is nothing to fix! The only thing that's come out of this relationship is me landing myself in the emergency room, only to come out and having to watch you being intimate with someone else, and then having to worry about whether or not I'd be alive the next day, because some fanatic assassin is after me for god knows what reason, not to mention turning into an overall emotional wreck… God, I… I thought I was over this…I thought I was over _you_. I thought coming back, taking back my old job wouldn't be a problem, because I was over you…and here you are…"

Without drawing breath she went from speaking to him to mostly addressing herself out loud, and her eyes had turned blank with tears as she spoke. She eyed him nervously, and bit her lip.

"Why are you so goddamn difficult to forget…You were just supposed to be a playboy, a bit of harmless fun… Christ, in all the magazines you juggle women's hearts like you're a headlining circus act… So, _why,_ on God's green earth, can't I just come to my senses…"

"You know that's all an act! Why do you insist on referring to me as a playboy when I've done my best to be straight with you…?"

"Because you don't seem to be able to make up your mind! And it would have been a hell of a lot easier… As weird as it sounds I'd much rather get my heart broken by Bruce Wayne the playboy, than to have to face the fact that a man I thought was so much better…so much more, would treat me like you did."

They both fell silent, and glanced around, to see if they had drawn any unwanted attention to themselves, because their voices had risen above a normal level during the last piece of conversation. But if any of the passersby had heard anything, they kept it to themselves, except for a couple of cautious sideways glances.

"I wish you would give me a chance to prove that I'm better than that."

"I did, Bruce." Her voice was back within normal range now, and there was an audible sadness in her words.

"And you blew it."

"Give me one more. One more chance and I swear to you…I will do better."

Their eyes met, and hers bore into him with a ferocity he had rarely seen in her before. It was obvious that she was not taking this lightly. He hadn't expected her to, but he had hoped it would be easier to offer her an explanation. Connie, however, wasn't making it easy. But now her eyes softened a fraction, and she said:

"I'll listen…but I'll reserve judgment."

"Fair enough."

Slowly, he held out his hand for her. This had gone about as well as he had expected. Now if only he could explain everything, then maybe they would still have a chance.

Again, she hesitated, but after a moment she let him take her hand and escort her in the direction of his car. She didn't protest when he wrapped her arm securely around his own, and for a split second he caught himself smiling into her hair as if they were a couple, as if it was Connie he had taken to dinner that night.

The thought didn't linger for more than a moment. Despite their rediscovered closeness, there was still a lot to say, and everything could change again before the night was over.

As they approached the car, Connie spoke again.

"So…where are you taking me?"

"The Manor." He replied, opening the passenger door for her.

"There are some things I have to show you…"

Their eyes met, and she nodded in understanding before getting into the car.

* * *

The ride out of Gotham was silent. Connie had curled up in the passenger seat and rested her cheek against the window while her eyes flickered between the passing lights of the city. Every once in a while he threw her a glance from the driver's seat, but she didn't appear to notice. He wondered silently if she was aware that she had placed herself physically as far away from him as the car would allow, or if it was subconscious. As the city lights gave way to fields and darkened forests, Connie said:

"What is it about you and me, do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's as if our paths keep intersecting, no matter what we do… Take tonight for example. There are close to ten million people living in Gotham City right now. The chances that, walking home from dinner, I'd bump into you were slim, at best. And yet…"

"You think it's fate?"

He shot her a look, and a crooked smile. Her eyes shifted from the landscape and instead rested on him.

"No. I don't believe in fate."

"Then, it's coincidence."

She turned her head towards him, as if to study him further, and said:

"Do you really believe that?"

He didn't respond. He had never been sold on the concept of fate, and he had been taught to further ignore whatever inkling he might have had that something like it existed. Now, he had to believe that nothing was predetermined, that the outcome of any given situation was determined by how well prepared you were, how well you handled yourself…and whatever remained, whatever unforeseen circumstance that proved to be beyond anyone's control, was chance. He was about to say something when she asked him another question. One he had been dreading.

"That woman…at the party. Is…was she a part of…this?" She motioned with her hands when finishing the sentence, to indicate she meant everything that had happened.

"Yes. You could say that." Bruce replied quietly.

"And what exactly does _that_ mean?" Connie demanded.

"Her name is Talia al Ghul." He continued calmly.

"I trained under her father, before I came back to Gotham."

Connie seemed to accept this, but that didn't keep her from asking:

"And this explains the scene at the Manor, how?"

They had reached the Manor now, and Bruce pulled the car to a stop on the gravel covered parking space behind the house. He opened the door, and moved to get out, gesturing for Connie to follow.

"Come inside. I'll tell you everything."

The Manor was quiet, and their steps seemed to echo on the wooden floors as they moved through the halls. Connie looked around with obvious curiosity. These were parts of the Manor unknown to her, and she seemed to have temporarily forgotten that other parts of the house held memories she was not fond of.

The hallway opened out into a gallery filled with portraits. In front of them rose a narrow wooden staircase, leading up to a door that appeared to be made of massive oak.

"Who are these guys?" Connie asked, glancing on the portraits on the walls.

"The Waynes of ages past." Bruce responded, allowing a half-smile to cross his face.

"Wow…there's so many of them. I'm not ever sure I could tell you who my great-grandparents were…"

"This house has been home to six generations of the Wayne family, starting with him…" He pointed over her shoulder, to the portrait of an austere-looking man in his sixties with wild, graying hair, bushy eyebrows and eyes so black they seemed to burn into you with their stare.

"Judge Solomon Wayne." Bruce finished, as Connie turned to look where he pointed. She frowned at the sight of the portrait, and turned back, saying:

"I wouldn't want to be the accused in his courtroom."

"Me neither," Bruce responded.

"He was known as a hanging judge."

"Come on." He held his hand out to Connie, who still stood at the bottom of the stairs. She turned towards him, and, seeing the outstretched hand, hesitated for a moment, before taking it. He led her up the stairs, and through the door, into the library.

The library had been his father's sanctuary, and Bruce had distant memories of sitting by a window, surrounded on all sides by shelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling, while his father taught him the basics of chess. Sometimes he would go exploring the shelves that he was tall enough to reach, and although he found many things he didn't understand at the time, he still remembered the smell of paper, the feeling of the leather bindings between his hands and some of the disjointed words that he had laughed quietly at, because they sounded funny. He felt that, on some level, his father's memory mainly resided there, and for that reason it had been important to him to reconstruct his father's library as it had been before the fire. As he entered it now, with Connie close by, he thought to himself that he had done a fair job of it.

On the far wall, across the room, were the windows, and in front of the center window stood a replica of the chessboard – stone plate in a wooden frame with pieces carved from black granite and white alabaster. The walls were covered in bookshelves from floor to ceiling, covering every subject that could interest a billionaire wastrel who engaged in certain shadowy activities in the nighttime, which had proved to be a many more subjects than one would think. To the left was a large desk that faced a seating area in front of the fireplace on the opposite wall.

Connie seemed to take in her surroundings, and proceeded to casually browse the bookshelves and explore the room without any form of invitation, having seemingly forgot all about him, but it only made Bruce smile. In front of the fireplace she stopped, and took down a silver picture frame from the mantle. Bruce already knew what picture had caught her attention, and carefully made his way across the room to join her.

"My parents…" He began, and she jumped in surprise, hastily placing the frame back on the mantelpiece.

Turning back towards him, she said quickly:

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry…"

"It's alright…I told you I was done keeping secrets from you."

He glanced at the picture, though he already knew exactly what it looked like. His parents on the grand staircase, dressed for a night out. His father's arm wrapped securely around his mother's waist, both smiling into the camera as if they had just realized it was there.

"So, tell me about that woman…Talia?"

"She's the daughter of Ra's al Ghul, a powerful player in the underworld. He considers himself the savior of mankind…most others would call him a terrorist. Years ago, a while after I left Gotham, I found myself in a prison in Tibet. He found me…and he offered me a path, a way to use the anger that had been building ever since my parents died, a way to channel it and make it an advantage, instead of letting it consume me. And I took his offer. For a little more than a year, I was in a monastery, high in the mountains. The training was excruciating. I watched people collapse, every day…some even died, I think. But I endured, because I had to. Because there was no going back. And because, deep, deep down, I relished it. He drove me to the very edge, he forced me to dive deep into memories and explore every corner of my mind, to face every fear and conquer them all. He freed me. He taught me to live with my past and shape my future. And I returned to Gotham a different man."

As he began to speak, Bruce had sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Now, he noticed Connie had joined him, and was watching him intently.

"But before that, I met Talia. For me, she was forbidden fruit, of course, but her father had raised her accustomed to get her way. You may have noticed…"

He looked up at Connie, and saw by her reaction that she had flashed back to that night in the ballroom. She gave a recognizing nod.

"And, apparently, she wanted me…"

"I'm not going to say that I had no power to fight her charms…I was…how is it they put it? Old enough to know better, but young enough not to care? Either way, it was a brief affair, and I put it behind me when I left the monastery. I never expected it to catch up with me, and least of all in the form of Talia herself."

Connie seemed to accept this fact without much protest, but she had noticed an opportunity to question him about other parts of his past life, and took it, without hesitation.

"So, when Bruce Wayne disappeared from Gotham…?"

Bruce smiled a wry smile.

"The night Bruce Wayne disappeared from Gotham, a young, nondescript man, with no wallet, and no ID, and certainly without all the trappings of a millionaire, snuck aboard a cargo ship heading out from Gotham Harbor. He didn't know what would happen to him, only that he needed to do something to stop the city he loved from rotting to the core."

Connie had leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and crossing her forearms in front of her.

"And what did this…nondescript young man do, once he'd escaped Gotham City?"

"He travelled. He sought out people he would never have said a word to at home. He fraternized with criminals; he even committed crimes himself… He had come to the conclusion that the only way to understand crime was to explore every corner of it, to learn all its secrets. In an effort to understand the evil he blamed for ending his parents' lives, he became a shadow. Bruce Wayne no longer existed. I went by countless names, none of them my own, and I participated in things that I would never do again. But still, something eluded me. After travelling the world for about six years, I was recruited for a smuggling operation, bringing machinery across the border into Tibet. We were caught, and I was sent to a remote prison."

He smiled slightly at the surprise apparent on Connie's face.

"You? In prison?"

He nodded, and continued.

"I was there for a few months, I think. Long enough to get accustomed to the conditions, but not long enough to make a reputation for myself. Every day I had to fight to retain my right to exist, and each day I won. One day, I was thrown into solitary confinement, and to my surprise there was a man waiting for me in the cell. He introduced himself as Henri Ducard, and told me that, if I was willing, there was a man who could show me a path. His name, Ducard said, was Ra's al Ghul, a man greatly respected and feared by the criminal underworld."

"And when faced with this…generous offer, what did you say?"

"What could I say? I was imprisoned, and I thought I would stay that way. The offer seemed intangible to me, generous after a fashion, but intangible. But as he turned to leave Ducard told me that I would be released the following day, and that on the slopes east of the prison grew a rare flower. And that if I could carry one of the flowers to the top of the nearby mountain, I might find what I had been looking for. Of course, I asked this man what he presumed to think I was looking for…"

"And what did he say?" Connie asked, an amused expression on her face. He could tell she only half believed the story he was telling her, but that she was enjoying it, nevertheless.

"Purpose. That was his response. And as the door to my cell slammed shut behind him I realized he was right. In five minutes he had surmised what it had taken me years to learn about myself."

"And that impressed you?"

"It intrigued me. And when I _was_ released the next day, I thought that…what if he was right? If this Ra's al Ghul character could give me something I'd been searching for for years, wasn't it worth a bit of effort?"

Bruce paused for a moment and looked at Connie again. She had pulled back now, and was no longer on the edge of her seat. She had instead leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs in front of her, both her arms placed casually on the arm rests.

"I was released…" He continued.

"Near a field of blue poppies. I had never seen their like before, and to this day I don't know of anywhere else in the world that they exist, except on the slopes at the foot of that mountain. I understood that this must be the flower, and the mountain I would have to climb. So, I picked a flower, shielded it in one of my pockets, and I started on the road to the top."

"That climb was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. The years as an outsider, a stowaway and a criminal had hardened me, and made me much stronger than I was when I first left Gotham, but not enough. I lost count of the number of times I thought about going back. But something, I still don't know what, kept me going. As I neared the mountain peak, I came to a village clinging to the mountainside, and I asked a man there for food. His reply was that if I needed food I should go back, and I realized that this must also be part of the test. So I continued."

"Did you make it?"

He nodded in response, and added.

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been sitting here."

"So, what happened next?"

"The doors to the monastery opened for me, and I once again I found myself face to face with Ducard. He asked if I was ready to begin my training, to which I responded that I could barely stand. He kicked me to the ground and reminded me that death was not considerate, or fair, and that within the monastery walls, I faced death. I hadn't come that far to die mere inches from my goal, so I fought him. I lost, but I was spared, and told that I had now come to a place where I would have to face my own fears."

"And what does a man like Bruce Wayne fear, I wonder?" Connie asked. Her eyes met his as he looked up, and there was a glimmer of something fierce in them, challenging him to go on.

"What does a woman like Connie Tate fear?" He asked in return, and the challenge in her eyes faded slightly. He softened, and continued:

"You really can't imagine?"

She shook her head.

"A harsh voice, a necklace that snaps, followed by the sound of pearls clattering to the ground, and then…two gunshots, one after the other, a scream, and the sound of running footsteps."

He paused, and looked at her again, to see if he had lost her, but to his satisfaction she was eyeing him with an intensity that told him she was very much present.

"I was eight years old when my parents were murdered right in front of me. And I've always thought that Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne that could have had a normal life and grown up to follow in his parents' footsteps, died with them that night. Because what followed...the rage I felt afterwards, was something that no eight year old boy should ever have to feel. For the next I tried to live on, tried to rid myself of the anger and the pain, but I couldn't. I was living half a life, just floating from place to place, school to school, people to people. Because I felt that there was nothing to ground me…and because I could. My parents were heirs to each their own fortune and I was their only child. I wanted for nothing, and when you have money, all the doors in the world are open to you… And no one expected much from the poor, orphaned Bruce Wayne. Alfred, God bless him, did his best, but he was still a manservant, not a father. If I rebelled, and I did…frequently, there was only so much he could do to put me in my place."

"I went through pretty much the entire Ivy League, but didn't graduate…I guess I just didn't see the point. But I was still haunted by that all-consuming rage, and in an effort to understand _why_, I threw myself into whatever studies I thought could help me understand."

"And what studies were that?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Everything. Criminology, psychology, forensic science, computer science, chemistry…name a field, and I'll wager I have at least some basic knowledge of it."

"So what did you figure out?"

"That's the thing. Not much… every class I took, even those who dealt with the deepest, darkest crevices of the human mind, could only bring me so far. That fact hit me in the face when my parents' killer was up for early parole, in exchange for giving the police information on a local gangster. I returned home from Princeton to attend the hearing, and I was so enraged with that man. It was as if everything I felt that night had been reawakened and I could not fathom that the D.A was going to let him walk. I felt that everyone but me had forgotten my parents' sacrifice. And I decided that I would never let him get away with what he had done. I procured a gun, made sure it couldn't be traced, and smuggled it with me into the courthouse."

Connie's expression was turning from curious and somewhat fascinated to disbelieving as he spoke.

"I sat there and watched as Joseph Chilton tried to downplay what he had done, and I became more and more determined to take his life in return for my parents. When the proceedings ended, I followed him into the hall…he was surrounded by reporters and news people. I waited, trying to find an opportunity to fire. At that point I felt so incensed that I couldn't care less whether I was caught or not. But then I heard the sound of a gunshot, and saw Chill slump to the floor. Falcone, the mob boss Chill was supposed to testify against, had one of his people pose as a reporter in order to get close enough to take Chill out."

"I was so disappointed…I felt robbed of my chance for justice. But at the same time, I began to realize that justice has to be about more than revenge. A coward with a gun took my parents' lives, and I was almost the coward with a gun who ended his. In the long run, there would have been no satisfaction in that for me. The loss would still have hurt just as much, the anger at myself for failing to do anything would have returned… So, I concluded that I would have to be better. That I would never degrade myself to taking another life, no matter how fulfilling and tempting it would be. That night I left Gotham behind, to learn from the world, rather than books, and with that we've come full circle on the question of Talia al Ghul, and maybe some others too..."

Connie nodded, but frowned, as if there were still many things she could not make sense of. Bruce saw this, and said gently:

"There is more to the story, but that's something I would prefer to show you, if you'd let me?"

She seemed to have more than an inkling about what he was referring to, but her features betrayed very little about what she thought or how much she really knew. She nodded at his suggestion, and they both stood. He led her over to a grandfather clock that was nestled in between the bookshelves, and opened it to set the clock hands to 10.47 PM. She raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing, and when the clock shifted aside to reveal an opening in the wall, she didn't gasp.

Once again he held out his hand, and this time she took it without hesitation. He guided her through the opening, and as she came through Connie saw that she was about to embark on a long flight of stairs that winded down into darkness.

"Careful…" He reminded her, and she took great care not to get her spiked heels caught on the steps.

As they proceeded downward, lights along the walls and in the ceiling illuminated their path, and Connie realized that the staircase was not nearly as claustrophobic as she had first thought. In fact, they seemed to be moving down into some sort of cave complex, because she could feel cold gusts of air rushing up to meet them, and as they descended she swore she could also hear the sound of running water in the distance.

Reaching the end of the staircase, she stepped onto a concrete floor, and just as she did so, the entire space was enlightened to reveal a large cave. The floors were paved with concrete, but the cave walls had been left unaltered, and rose in jagged majesty to form a dome high above them, and on the other side from where they stood, she could see the waterfall she had heard earlier. But the most remarkable was hardly the cave itself, but rather its contents, because this…this was the Batman's cave.

On the level which they stood Connie first noticed an array of computer screens, all seemingly functioning independently of each other. Some seemed to be connected to the Gotham City Police Department, and were cycling through what appeared to be criminal records at great speed. Others appeared to be connected to international and federal agencies, but what exactly they were displaying she could not make out from afar.

The computer did not hold her attention for long, because soon her eyes travelled to several displays just behind it that took up most of the remaining space on that level. In the main display Connie saw the ghost of a man she had met before, in shadows, and in places neither of them should have been. And at the sight of that, she did gasp, and stepped back, bumping into Bruce, who stood just behind her.

"Oh my God!"

He put his arms around her, and held her in place, whispering an urgent,

"Relax, Connie!"

When she did not try to run, he continued.

"It's just a suit…a shell…"

"But it's your shell…" Connie replied, her voice still a bit frantic.

She took a deep breath, and continued.

"You're telling me, that Bruce Wayne…is Batman?"

"Yes, Connie. That's what I'm telling you. But that's also what you knew, or thought you knew, right?"

She nodded.

"I suspected that, yes. But there's a far cry between thinking there were similarities between you and seeing this."

"I understand that. But I didn't want to deny you the truth…not this time."

"You could have…I'm beginning to wish you would have."

She turned to look at him, and he saw her keen eyes search his features for answers.

"But that would not have settled you, and if we had moved further into a relationship you would never have trusted me completely… You would always have the feeling that I was keeping something from you. And you'd be right."

"What makes you think I'll trust you now? You _have _just revealed yourself to be a man who dresses up as a bat every night in order to take on Gotham's criminals one by one…"

"True. But at least I haven't given you a reason to distrust my motives… And to be honest, I had hoped that the understanding you mentioned when we met earlier wasn't a ruse. We have similar backgrounds, Connie. Are you telling me that you never felt that rage I told you about?"

"I wasn't lying." Connie replied with determination, and quickly continued.

"I do understand…at least partially. In the years after my dad's death, I…rebelled, I guess you would call it. I lost touch with my surroundings…started hanging out with people who were four – five – six years older than me. Remember that I was just barely in my teens at the time…. I did some stupid things…harmless compared to many others, but stupid nonetheless. I guess all I really wanted was someone who would see me as he had done, you know? My mom did her best…my brother too, but there was no replacement for him."

He nodded, half in acknowledgement of what she had said, and half wanting her to continue.

"The change in me came when my mother sent me to live with my grandparents while attending high school. I hated it at first, of course… Rural Iowa is a long way from Gotham City. But my grandfather had expectations of me, nothing outlandish, just the normal stuff…do your best, help out when you can. But no one had asked anything much of me for four years, and I'd grown accustomed to using their pity for all it was worth. So, it was a shock to finally be with someone whose attitude was 'work through it' and 'put it behind you'. But it changed me… The reason I said that, about understanding you, was that at some point during those four years…if someone had said to me 'I can give you what you need to avenge your father. I have the power to take away your pain, and make you stronger for it'... I would have taken the offer. But this…"

"It's extreme." Bruce agreed.

"But it was the only way to bring Gotham back from the edge of destruction. A shock tactic, if you will."

"You put yourself above the law, Bruce. You gave yourself the role of judge, jury and executioner… What right do you have to do that?"

"The right of the victim. I know firsthand the damage these criminals cause, and I have the skills and the tools necessary to make sure they never hurt anyone as they hurt me. The system didn't work, Connie. There was too much corruption, too many people who looked the other way for fear or their own gain. Knowing that, and knowing what made me who I am, how could you expect me not to do anything?"

"Your inheritance offered you other ways to save the city." Connie objected.

"And I do use them…in the future, after the Batman has played out his role, my philanthropies will be the only way I have of making Gotham a better place. But for now, the Batman is still needed. Things have gotten better, and the police and prosecutors are doing a much better job now, but they are still fighting an uphill battle. Until the system is fixed to the point that they can handle this city on their own, I will help in any way I can."

Connie turned away, returning her attention to the cave. Slowly she made her way closer to the suit display, and caught her first glimpse of the level underneath, which held several vehicles and pieces of lab equipment.

The suit itself was less terrifying up-close, and without someone inside of it. She had to admire the technology incorporated in it, some of which she had only seen as blueprints or in basic prototype form before, never in practical use.

"Lucius knows about this, doesn't he?"

Bruce nodded.

"I've never said the words to him, but yes…he definitely knows."

"I should have known, this has his signature all over it. Does anyone else know?"

"Leslie Thompkins…you probably remember her from your time at the hospital last year. And Alfred, obviously."

"You are good at keeping secrets."

"I have to be. Can you imagine the reaction if it became public knowledge that Bruce Wayne spent his nights dressed up as a bat?"

For the first time that night Connie laughed out loud. Not chiefly because the remark had been outright funny, because the consequences surely would not be, but because she was relieved to see that the man she cared so deeply about, showed no signs of being truly crazed. His methods were outlandish, of course, and she could not make up her mind about how she really felt about them. But still…

They emerged from the library wall some time later, and Connie asked the question that had been left in the air between them all night.

"So, where does this leave us?"

"That is very much up to you." Bruce replied.

"I honestly don't know what to say at this point," Connie admitted.

"I can't say I agree with what you're doing, but…"

"But, what?"

"I think you are an excellent man, without him." She nodded over his shoulder in a gesture to indicate the entrance to the caves, which was now once again concealed by the grandfather clock.

"I wish you could see that…" She stood face to face with him, and for the first time since their entrance into the cave, she was close enough to touch, and hold.

"I also think…" She continued, before he could say anything.

"That I love you…or at least that I'm _in_ love with you because of that, but I don't know if I can cope with your double life."

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and was going to leave it at that, but then he had the irresistible urge to kiss her. It took her by surprise, but she didn't fight it.

"Fair enough." He said, as they broke apart.

"How about we start over, and take it slow…see where we end up?"

She nodded in response, and now it was her turn to kiss him, as abruptly as he had done her seconds before. There was a clear sense of physical urgency between them that thoroughly contradicted the pace they had just agreed on for their relationship.

"Stay…" He begged her, in a ragged breath that was uncharacteristic of either of his personalities.

Her response was to kiss him again.


	16. Follow the story in Secrets and Lies

This is, strictly speaking, against FFN policy (no adding chapters only to submit author's notes or the like), but I had so much great feedback on this story, and I know that some of you wanted me to write another story about Connie and Bruce, so I wanted to let you know that...

Your wish is my command. I've now begun the third Connie/Bruce story - it's called _Secrets and Lies_, and the first chapter is online now. The story summary looks like this:

_In Gotham, Connie and Bruce have lived a normal life together for a while. But now, trouble is on the horizon once again, and Connie will learn that a life at the top can leave you vulnerable, while Bruce discovers that things from the past won't always stay buried. Sometimes the sins of the father haunt the child. And sometimes everyone wears a mask._

For some reason, FFN won't let me post a direct link to the story, but if you search for it, or go to my profile page, it should still be fairly easy to find!

So, wether you've followed me from Smoke and Mirrors, or you've just discovered my writing, I'll say one more time that I've temendously enjoyed your company, and I hope you'll follow me along for more of Bruce and Connie's adventures.

As always, my inbox is open, and I'm always happy to chat (and geek out about Batman).

Liave


End file.
